"What should be wrong?" said Stephen, strolling to the door. "What do you want, Joe?"
"Come up, my boy, will you?"
He shrugged, and went out.
"What can be the matter?" wondered Valerie. "Do you suppose Mr. Herriard's ill, or something?"
"Why? Why should he be? He was perfectly well when I saw him last," said Mottisfont.
"My lumbago," murmured Mathilda.
Stephen, leisurely mounting the stairs, found Joseph, and Nathaniel's valet, Ford, standing outside Nathaniel's door. They both looked worried. Stephen said, "Well, what's wrong?"
"Stephen, my boy, I don't quite like it," Joseph replied. "Nat doesn't answer my knock and Ford tells me he didn't answer his, half an hour ago."
"So what?" retorted Stephen. "Perhaps he's fed up with the human race, and who shall blame him?"
"Don't joke, old chap! I'm afraid something must be wrong. I think we ought to break down the door."