"Mrs. Weatherley is here, sir," Arnold whispered.
Mr. Weatherley opened his eyes.
"Good!" he murmured. "Let me sit up."
There was a moment's pause. Arnold moved to the door and held it open. They heard the swish of her skirts as she came through the outer office, and the heavier footsteps of the doctor who followed. Mr. Weatherley tried vainly to rise to his feet. He held out his arms. Fenella hastened towards him.
"Fenella, I couldn't help it," her husband gasped. "I had to kill him—he told me he was waiting there for you. My hands are quite clean now. Chetwode told me that he got up and walked away, but that's all nonsense. I struck him right over the skull."
She fell on her knees by his side.
"You dear, brave man," she murmured. "I believe you saved my life."
He smiled. His face was suddenly childlike. He was filled with an infinite content.
"I think," he said, "that I should like—to go home now—if this other gentleman and Chetwode will kindly help me out. You see, I haven't been here since May 4, and to-day is July 2. I think I must have overslept myself. And that idiot Jarvis was opening the letters when I arrived! Yes, I'm quite ready."
They helped him out to the carriage. He stepped in and took his usual place without speaking again. The car drove off, Fenella holding his hand, the doctor sitting opposite.