e watched and waited; and in a very
few minutes Heyton came out of the sick-room. He was white as death, and
he was shaking in every limb. The detective waited until he had heard
Heyton's slow and heavy steps descend the stairs, then Mr. Jacobs went
down, by the back stairs, to his sitting-room. He dined there, with the
Inspector, and entertained--though that is scarcely the word--the amazed
and disgusted Mr. Brown by an account of a visit Mr. Jacobs had paid to
a big agricultural show in the north.

After dinner, he smoked a cigar with an air of quiet and subdued
enjoyment proper to the circumstances; and a little later on, he went
for a stroll. The night was hot, and Heyton had gone on to the terrace;
he had had some more brandy, and was trying to smoke; but his throat and
lips were too parched to permit of his doing so, and with an oath, he
flung the cigar away. It fell very nearly on Mr. Jacobs' Homburg hat.

"All right, my lord," he said, as Heyton muttered a sullen apology. "I
was just taking a stroll." He went up the steps, and stood beside
Heyton, looking at the view with obvious admiration; then presently, he
said, "I was going to ask you if you'd mind signing a paper for me, my
lord. It's just a little report for Scotland Yard; scarcely necessary
perhaps, but still----"

"All right," said Heyton, dully. "Here, come in here!" They entered the
library by the French door.

"A beautiful room: magnificent!" murmured Mr. Jacobs. He drew a paper
from his pocket and spread it out on the writing-slope. "Just here, my
lord, if you please; it's a kind of authorization from you to take
charge of the case."

He handed Heyton a pen, and Heyton looked at the paper hazily and was
about to sign, when Mr. Jacobs, in drawing the inkstand nearer, had the
misfortune to upset it. The ink ran over the paper, and over Heyton's
fingers.

"What the devil!" he exclaimed, angrily.

"I beg your pardon, my lord! I'm very sorry; very sorry; it was
dreadfully clumsy of me. Dear, dear; it's all over your lordship's hand!
Here, wipe it on this, my lord!"

In his agitation and embarrassment, Mr. Jacobs actually caught hold of
Heyton's hand and pressed it on a sheet of paper.

"Tut, tut," he said. "I thought it was blotting-paper! Here it is! I
really am so sorry--never did such a thing in my life before!"

"Damned clumsy of you!" growled Heyton. "I'm in a beast of a mess!
Where's a cloth?"

"Pray take my handkerchief, my lord," sa