it to their satisfaction; and then the Baron, taking a refreshing pinch of Macuba, rose to his feet. 

 “That is it, my friend,” said he; “an economical B.P. at K. Knight 4, and the thing is done.” 

 The clock on the mantelpiece chimed a quarter past four as he spoke, and on the tinkling reverberation of its one stroke some one opened the door. It was Hugo Kennett: the young man’s face was ghastly; his hands shook; he came into the room hurriedly, as if overweighted with some dreadful piece of intelligence. 

 “Good God, Hughie!” exclaimed his father, and rose, staring at the boy, his eternal cigarette caught between his teeth. 

 The young soldier made an effort to speak; his breath fluttered audibly in him like the leaf of a ventilator; his nerve seemed for the moment gone utterly beyond his control. 

 “Steady, sir!” commanded the General; and his masterful tone had its visible effect. “Now,” he said, after a rallying pause. “What is it?” 

 Hugh swallowed once or twice, and answered. Le Sage, observant of him, could see what immense force he had to put upon himself to do so. 

 “The Bishop’s Walk! Can you come at once, sir? There’s been what looks like a dreadful murder there.” 

 Sir Calvin never so much as blenched or exclaimed. One might at least admire in him the self-possessed soldier, not to be rattled by any sudden call upon his nerve. 

 “Murder!” he said. “Whose murder?” 

 The young man’s lips quivered; he looked physically sick. 

 “It’s one of the maids, sir. I saw her; I came upon her myself. I had forgotten my gun, and went back to fetch it, and there she was lying on her face, and——” He put his hands before his own face and shuddered horribly. 

 “Look here,” said the father, “you must pull yourself together. This won’t do at all. Baron, get me my hunting flask, if you’ll be so good. It’s in the right-hand top drawer of my desk.” 

 He poured into the cup, with an unshaking hand, a full half gill of liqueur brandy, and made his son drink it down. It wrought a measure of effect; a tinge of colour came to Hugh’s cheek; his hurried respirations steadied. 

 “Now,” said Sir Calvin, “try to be coherent. What do you 

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