Ralph's first impulse was to laugh, but the grotesque horror of the situation was too much for him. He drew himself up with dignity.
"I will come with you at once," he said. "Excuse me for a moment. I must tell my guests that I am compelled to bid them good-night."
The detective hesitated, and Ralph flushed as he understood.
"By all means come upstairs," he said, with cold hauteur. "You will, doubtless, excuse me if I refrain from introducing you to the lady who is going to do me the honour of becoming my wife." He went upstairs again, but his native instincts of a gentleman reasserting themselves in the brief interval, he turned to the detective as they gained the roof. "I beg your pardon for saying that," he said, with wonderfully winning courtesy; "perhaps you will oblige me by allowing me to present you to Miss Austen. Your name is——?"
"Anstruther," the man answered.
Ralph went up to Gwendolen.
"I'm sorry to cause you a minute's distress or anxiety, darling," he said, "but this gentleman, Mr. Anstruther, requires my attendance in the matter of Uncle Geoffrey's death."
Gwendolen started up.
"Requires——?"
Ralph stroked her hand.