"And no one has been near him since?"
Then Mrs. Wither intervened.
"Oh yes. I went into Mr. Chase's room an hour afterwards. He was sitting in his armchair before the grate----"
"Holding the apple in his hand. I think. Mrs. Wither, you said?" continued Stiles.
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Wither. "He had his arm out resting on the arm of the chair, and the apple was in his hand."
"Well, well!" exclaimed Warrisden.
"I told him that I would not call him in the morning until he rang, as he wanted a good rest."
"What did he say?" asked Warrisden.
"Nothing, sir. As often as not he does not answer when he is spoken to."
A sudden fear seized upon Warrisden. He ran out of the room and up the stairs to Chase's sitting-room. He knocked on the door; there was no answer. He turned the handle and entered. Chase had not gone to bed last night. He was still sitting in his armchair before the grate. One arm was extended along the arm of the chair, with the palm turned upwards, and in the palm lay an apple. Chase was sitting huddled up, with his head fallen forward upon his breast like a man asleep. Warrisden crossed the room and touched the hand which held the apple. It was quite cold. The apple rolled on to the floor. Warrisden turned to the housekeeper. She was standing in the doorway, and staring over her shoulder were the two undergraduates.