"I want you, my dear," she said. "I want you to help me. He is not dead," she went on in a whisper; "he is still alive, though Doctor Scott will not give us any hope yet."
Celia assisted Mrs. Dexter in carrying out the doctor's orders; the Marquess was still unconscious; but though he looked more dead than alive, life was still present. After a time, there came a timid and subdued knock at the door. Mrs. Dexter signed to Celia to open it and she did so. It was Smith, the butler.
"The Inspector has come, Miss Grant, and is asking for Lord Heyton," he said in a tremulous voice.
Heyton turned at the sound of his name and went out.
"How is the Marquess, my lord?" asked Smith, who was deeply agitated.
"Oh, he's all right," said Heyton. "I mean, the doctor thinks he'll pull round. Here, don't make more fuss than is necessary, Smith; keep the house quiet and tell the servants to keep their mouths shut."
Smith looked at him with surprise; for Heyton's manner was scarcely that of a son whose father had nearly been done to death. The Inspector was in the hall and Heyton signed to him to follow into the library.
"This is dreadful news, my lord," said the Inspector.
"Rather!" assented Heyton. He was very pale, and his hair was dank with sweat, and his tongue moved over his lips thickly, with a restless, feverish movement. "Here, we'd better have a drink before we begin. I'm terribly upset. Only natural, eh, Inspector?—Own father, you know?—Bring in some soda and whisky," he ordered the footman who answered the bell.
"Not for me, my lord, thank you," said the Inspector, respectfully.