"The man will die!" he said. "Who do you believe could have struck him that blow in your room?"
"I do not know," she answered; "indeed I do not."
"You heard what Groves said," Arnold continued. "There is no one in the house except the servants."
"That man was here," she answered. "Why not others? Listen."
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall. She held up her finger cautiously.
"Be very careful before Mr. Weatherley," she begged. "It is an ordinary burglary, this—no more."
The door was opened. Mr. Weatherley, in hasty and most unbecoming deshabille, bustled in. His scanty gray hair was sticking out in patches all over his head. He seemed, as yet, scarcely awake. With one hand he clutched at the dressing-gown, the girdle of which was trailing behind him.
"What is the meaning of this, Fenella?" he demanded. "Why am I fetched from my room in this manner? You, Chetwode? What are you doing here?"
"I have brought Mrs. Weatherley home, sir," Arnold answered. "We noticed a light in her room and we made a discovery there. It looks as though there has been an attempted burglary within the last hour or so."
"Which room?" Mr. Weatherley asked. "Which room? Is anything missing?"