or they heard a
horrid kind of choking scream. They both rushed to Sir Michael's
room, and--"

"Yes, yes?"

"He was lying half out of bed, sir--"

"Dead?"

"Seemed like he'd been strangled, they told me, and--"

"Who is with him now?"

The man grew even paler.

"No one, Mr. Cairn, sir. Miss Myra screamed out that there were two
hands just unfastening from his throat as she and Mrs. Hume got to the
door, and there was no living soul in the room, sir. I might as well
out with it! We're all afraid to go in!"

Cairn turned and ran up the stairs. The upper landing was in darkness
and the door of the room which he knew to be Sir Michael's stood wide
open. As he entered, a faint scent came to his nostrils. It brought
him up short at the threshold, with a chill of supernatural dread.

The bed was placed between the windows, and one curtain had been
pulled aside, admitting a flood, of moonlight. Cairn remembered that
Myra had mentioned this circumstance in connection with the
disturbance of the previous night.

"Who, in God's name, opened that curtain!" he muttered.

Fully in the cold white light lay Sir Michael Ferrara, his silver hair
gleaming and his strong, angular face upturned to the intruding rays.
His glazed eyes were starting from their sockets; his face was nearly
black; and his fingers were clutching the sheets in a death grip.
Cairn had need of all his courage to touch him.

He was quite dead.

Someone was running up the stairs. Cairn turned, half dazed,
anticipating the entrance of a local medical man. Into the room ran
his father, switching on the light as he did so. A greyish tinge
showed through his ruddy complexion. He scarcely noticed his son.

"Ferrara!" he cried, coming up to the bed. "Ferrara!"

He dropped on his knees beside the dead man.

"Ferrara, old fellow--"

His cry ended in something like a sob. Robert Cairn turned, choking,
and went downstairs.

In the hall stood Felton and some other servants.

"Miss Duquesne?"

"She has recovered, sir. Mrs. Hume has taken her to another bedroom."

Cairn hesitated, then walked into the deserted library, where a light
was burning. He began to pace up and down, clenching and unclenching
his fists. Presently Felton knocked and entered. Clearly the man was
glad of the chance to talk to someone.

"Mr. Antony has been 'phoned at Oxford, sir. I thought you might like
to know. He is motoring down, sir, and will be here at four o'clock."

"Th