"How wicked—how very wicked. But if Mr. Shepworth is dead——"
"He ain't, sir," the constable slipped the gold into his pocket; "he's in a faint of sorts I believe. And they do say as he killed Steve Agstone, so as to save the young lady he's defending. Now I can't tell you more, sir, and I've said too much already. Just go home and keep quiet, sir. The police will look after this matter here."
Rover, still wringing his useless hands, and muttering to himself like the weak-brained little man he was, wearily climbed the stairs to his deserted ballrooms. As he ascended, two women and a man came down, white-faced and shaken. They tried to enter Number Forty, but the constable stretched forth a brawny arm to prevent entrance.
"But we must come in," said the man deferentially; "we are Mr. Shepworth's servants. I am his valet, this lady is the cook, and yonder is the housemaid. We have a right to enter."
"You can't until the doctor and the inspector have done with your master," said the constable stolidly. "And why aren't you in bed?"
The cook, a large, red-faced lady, gaily dressed, replied. "Mr. Shepworth allowed us to join Mrs. Rover's servants at the masked ball."
"Then none of you were in this flat when the murder was committed?" questioned the policeman, doing a little detective business on his own account.
"Oh, lor', no," cried the housemaid timidly; "we've been upstairs since nine o'clock helping Mrs. Rover's servants with the party. Do let us in, Mr. Policeman."
"Stay where you are until orders come," commanded the officer sternly; and the trio sat disconsolately on the stairs. With the instinct of self-preservation, they had thoroughly explained their absence from the scene of the crime, and now felt perfectly safe.
Meanwhile in the dining-room a young medical man, who had fortunately been present at the ball, was reviving Shepworth with brandy and ammonia. The windows had been thrown open, and the fresh air was filling the room so rapidly that scarcely a trace of the tuberose fragrance remained. Prelice, having laid aside his mask and domino, was standing near the door with his hands in his pockets, watching a man in uniform, who examined the dead along with the official doctor whom the police had called in. The first individual was Inspector Bruge, a keen-looking, sharp-eyed man, with a clean-shaven face and closely clipped grey hair, and an abrupt red-tape manner. Captain Jadby was not present, having departed with the rest of the too curious onlookers; but Lord Prelice remained, as he had been the first to discover the crime, and Bruge wished to hear his account of it. Already the Inspector's note-book was in his hand to note down the result of the official doctor's examination. There was a dead silence in the room, faintly broken by the distant roll of vehicular traffic, with the occasional hoot of a motor horn. The bell of a near church boomed out midnight so unexpectedly that Prelice jumped. He might well be excused for doing so, as his nerves were considerably shaken.