ry strong indeed. That's what I've
got to find out."

"And all for the sake of your poor father's money, sir--which she'd
have got in a few years' time anyhow!"

Roger was silent, knowing better than Chalmers, perhaps, the reason why
Therese was not willing to wait for his father to die. He put on the
light overcoat the butler held ready for him, thinking he would take
one look at Esther before setting out. It was still very early; the
life of the house had not yet begun. He knew that he would not find
the chemist's shop open, and it might be several hours before he could
accomplish much, but his restless state would not permit him to remain
inactive.

As he left his room followed by Chalmers, a loud ringing and knocking
at the front door caused them both to start and look at each other,
recalling the dramatic entry of the police the night before. What
could it be this time, and at this early hour?

"That will be a telegram, sir, I should say, though they don't
generally make such a row, especially this time of day. I'll just see."

The clamour continued without ceasing. Roger let the old servant
precede him down the stairs and saw him draw back the bolts of the
door, muttering, "All right, all right--what's all the fuss about?"

On the threshold stood the excited figure of a telegraphic messenger,
holding in his hand a _depeche_ which he did not trouble to deliver.
Instead he burst out at once in a harsh, strained voice:

"_Monsieur! Monsieur! On n'a pas su--on n'a pas regarde
dehors--la-bas----_"

"_Comment?_" demanded Roger, frowning. "_Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?_"

"_Un accident, monsieur. Regardez donc!_"

With a tense forefinger he pointed over the low stone balustrade at the
right-hand side of the steps. Both men leaned over to look. What at
first appeared to be a sodden, black rag, beaten by the rain, lay upon
the ground close to the wall of the house. What was it? It was
half-hidden by a rose-bush.... Someone pushed rudely past Roger,
thrusting him aside. It was Aline.

"Chalmers, what is it? It can't be---- My God it is; it's ..."

An ear-splitting shriek rent the air as Aline made the same discovery.
Scream followed scream as the woman beat her hands together, crying:

"_Ah, nom d'un nom! C'est Madame, c'est Madame!_"

It was indeed Lady Clifford. The body, clad in the black chiffon frock
soaked by the rain, lay crumpled up in the angle of the steps. The
face was hidden under