Fenella came slowly to his side. She leaned over his shoulder.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
Her tone was cold and unnatural. Her paroxysm of fear seemed to have passed.
"I don't know," Arnold answered. "Let Groves telephone for a doctor."
The man half turned away, yet hesitated. Fenella fell on her knees and bent over the prostrate body.
"He is not dead," she declared. "Groves, tell me exactly who is in the house?"
"There is no one here at all, madam," the man answered, "except the servants, and they are all in the other wing. We have had no callers whatever this evening."
"And Mr. Weatherley?"
"Mr. Weatherley arrived home about seven o'clock," Groves replied, "dined early, and went to bed immediately afterwards. He complained of a headache and looked very unwell."
Fenella rose slowly to her feet. She looked from Arnold to the prostrate figure upon the carpet.