had obviously been
sitting, for an arm-chair was drawn to the fire, a reading lamp was
lighted on the table, and papers and magazines lay scattered about.

The police officer in plain clothes, who stood with his subordinate,
somewhat undecided, hardly knew how to begin. It was a hard task to
break such awful news to this lonely old man.

At last it was done; the word "accident" and "your nephew" were
blurted out by the man in command. But hardly were these out of his
lips than Lord Radclyffe--livid and trembling--had jumped to his feet.

"Luke!" he contrived to exclaim, and his voice was almost choked, his
lips and hands trembled, beads of perspiration stood upon his
forehead. "Something has happened to Luke."

"No, no, my lord! that's not the name--Philip was on the card and on
the letters--Philip de Mountford--that was, I think, the poor
gentleman's name."

"And an accident has happened to Mr. Philip de Mountford?"

The voice was quite different now. No longer choked with anxiety, calm
and as if mildly interested in passing events. It was obvious even to
the strangers present that one nephew was of far greater moment than
the other.

"I am afraid, my lord, that it's worse than an accident----"

The officer paused a moment, satisfied that he was doing all that was
necessary and possible to mitigate the suddenness of the blow.

"It's foul play," he said at last; "that's what it was."

"Foul play? What do you mean by that?"

"Mr. Philip de Mountford has been murdered, my lord--his body now lies
at the police station--would you wish him conveyed home at once, my
lord--or wait until after the inquest?"

There was silence in the room for a moment or two, while the
old-fashioned clock ticked stolidly on. At the awful announcement,
which indeed might have felled a younger and more vigorous man, Lord
Radclyffe had not moved. He was still standing, his hand resting on
the table beside the piled up newspapers. The light of the lamp veiled
by a red shade illumined the transparent delicacy of the high-bred
hand, the smooth black surface of the coat, and the glimmering
whiteness of the shirt front with its single pearl stud. The face
itself was in shadow, and thus the police officer saw little or
nothing of that inward struggle for self-mastery which was being put
so severely to the test.

Lord Radclyffe, face to face with the awful event, strove by every
power at his command to remain dignified and impassive. The