"Went off duty, sir, at twelve. He'll be back at eight. Can I do anything for you?"
"I wanted some tea," said Melville. "I'm ashamed to say I've been asleep."
"I'll bring it to you," the manager said.
"Thanks," Melville answered. "You might see if there are any letters for me," and he rose and stretched himself.
Tea arrived, and on the tray there lay a couple of letters and the telegram. Melville tore it open, and an exclamation of surprise and horror broke from him.
"When did this come?" he asked. "Half an hour ago! Oh, why wasn't it brought up to me at once?"
"I'm very sorry," the manager said, "but I really didn't know you were in."
"I've been in all the afternoon," said Melville. "Who would go out in such a storm if they could help it? But, in any case, I think someone should bring up telegrams to see if I am at home. It's awful—awful!"
"Bad news, sir?" asked the manager.
"Awful," said Melville again. "Sir Geoffrey Holt is dead. I must go down at once."