They made their way back to the bedroom. Félice smiled at them both when they entered. Then her husband thought no more about the jewels. He hurried over to her side. Once more her arms went round his neck and her head rested upon his shoulder.
“Andrew,” she murmured, “I have been so frightened—so terrified. There was shooting—here, in this room. And the lights all went out. Who is it that is hurt?”
“You shall hear everything presently, dear,” he assured her. “You and I are not hurt, at any rate, or any one we care much about. Let us be selfish, dear, until you are a little stronger.”
She clung to him convulsively. Suddenly the newly arrived colour began to fade from her cheeks. Behind her husband she saw Sir Richard standing gravely in the background.
“May I ask one question?” the latter begged. Her arms tightened round Glenlitten’s neck until they seemed as though they would choke him.
“Andrew,” she pleaded, “I cannot think. Send him away.”
“Oh, damn the necklace!” Glenlitten muttered, turning angrily around. “Can’t you see, Dick, Félice is not fit to be questioned.”
“The necklace,” she repeated. “It is on the dressing table with my rings and bracelets. I took everything off quickly. I was frightened. My head ached, and I was in a hurry to get into bed.”
Sir Richard turned away without further speech. Outside there were voices in the corridor, and a heavy footfall. The doctor leaned over the bed.
“That is probably the sergeant outside,” he announced. “He will have to come in and make his examination. Why not take your wife into your room?”
“Sure it won’t hurt her?” Andrew asked anxiously.
“It will hurt her less than to see the police sergeant in the room, and to hear him asking questions.”
Glenlitten took a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it round her eyes.
“But what is this that you do to me?” she cried softly.
“I want you to forget this room for a little time, dearest,” he explained. “Now see, I am going to carry you into mine.”
He took her into his arms. She was, after all, the lightest possible weight. He carried her across the room, past that terrible object upon the floor, into his own apartment, and laid her upon the bed. The maid had followed them.
“Now I must go and talk to this fellow from the village,” he said. “You must lie here. Annette will stay with you, and Doctor Meadows will be in the next room.”
“I’ll make her up a sleeping draught presently,” the latter promised, “and she’ll be quite all right in the morning.”
She leaned towards her husband.
“Tell me before you go, Andrew,” she begged, “who is it that is hurt?”
He hesitated, but she caught hold of his hand and drew him towards her.
“I must know,” she insisted. “Tell me. Is it Raoul?”
“Raoul?” he repeated wonderingly.
“Raoul de Besset,” she faltered.
There was once more a momentary return of that chill fear. He shook it off. “Raoul de Besset.” To his knowledge it was the first time he had heard the young man’s Christian name.
“Yes,” he acknowledged, “it was De Besset.”
She sank back upon the pillows. Her great eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. The doctor, with his fingers upon her pulse, motioned to Glenlitten, who turned and left the room….
In the next apartment a sergeant—in mufti, for he had been summoned from his bed—was kneeling upon the ground, making a brief examination of the prostrate body. Sir Richard touched his host upon the shoulder and pointed towards the dressing table.
“Of course you realise,” he whispered, “that the necklace has gone.”
CHAPTER IV
For a man who has just lost jewels not only of great value, but family heirlooms, their owner’s manner was amazing. He scarcely glanced towards the ransacked dressing table. For the first time he was really studying the gruesome sight upon the carpet.
“Of course the jewels have gone,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose a burglar would come in and commit murder for nothing.”
“Murder!” the sergeant repeated, with protruding eyes. “The man is dead then?” he added, producing a bulky notebook from his pocket.
“Stone dead. Shot through the heart,” Doctor Meadows answered. “Of course there is the question of suicide to be considered, but he is scarcely likely to have chosen this room for such a purpose; besides which, I think you will presently find traces of a third person’s presence here.”
The sergeant made a note in his book.
“Can you tell me his name?” he enquired.
“The Comte Raoul de Besset,” Glenlitten answered, his tongue hesitating a little at the “Raoul.”
“He is a well-known sportsman and a visitor here for the shooting.”
The sergeant looked round the room and leaned out of the window.
“You can search the place later,” Sir Richard advised. “Are there any more questions you would like to ask the doctor? He wants to get back to her ladyship.”
The sergeant turned around, book in hand.
“Was the man shot from close to, or from a distance, do you think, sir?”
“I will make a further examination as to that. My own impression is that he was shot from at least half a dozen paces away. There are no signs of singeing on the shirt, or anything of that sort.”
“By a bullet from an ordinary revolver?”
“A small automatic, I should think. I haven’t much experience in these matters,” the doctor added thoughtfully, “but I should say so. The wound is small but deadly.”
“And how long should you say that he had been dead, sir?”
Meadows stooped down once more, felt the arms and legs, unbuttoned a little farther some of the clothing.
“Not long,” he decided. “Two hours at the most.”
The sergeant made another note. Then he turned to Glenlitten, and the doctor slipped back into the next room.
“I should like to know, my lord,” he asked, “the circumstances under which the body was found and whether there was a witness to the crime.”
“There was no actual witness to the crime,” Glenlitten replied. “What happened was that the lights throughout the house went out, at about midnight. Presently I am going to ask you to examine the cable which my electrician says was deliberately tampered with. I came upstairs to see if my wife, who had retired early, was frightened, and found her lying in a dead faint upon the bed there, this window, which is usually open only about two inches, wide open, traces which this gentleman, Sir Richard Cotton, who is a criminal lawyer, could point out to you, of some one having left or entered by the window, and the body of this man, dead. Have you got that?”
“I have, my lord,” the man assented. “Seems a clear case of burglary and murder. Was the other gentleman saying something about jewels?”
“So far as we can tell at present, Sergeant,” Sir Richard announced, “a number of her ladyship’s jewels, including a diamond necklace