“Sir Robert is taken ill; he’s had bad news. Lady Rawson has been murdered. Better telephone for a doctor and fetch the housekeeper.”
Two minutes later he was speeding westward in a taxi, eager to investigate this sudden and tragic development of the case, for he assumed instantly that the murder was the outcome of the theft of the papers.
At the house in Grosvenor Gardens confusion reigned for a time. The only one among the flurried servants who kept a clear head at this crisis was the imperturbable Thomson, who, after the unwonted outburst of emotion that escaped him as he knelt beside his stricken master, resumed his habitual composure, and promptly took charge of the situation as it affected Sir Robert himself. For the time being he practically ignored the news of the murder, which the others, naturally enough, began discussing with awestruck excitement. Now, as ever, his one thought was his master, and with deft tenderness he did what he thought best—loosening the sufferer’s clothes and raising his head. When the doctor arrived Thomson proved an invaluable assistant in every way.
“Will he recover, sir?” he asked, with poignant anxiety, when at length they quitted the room to which Sir Robert had been carried, leaving him still unconscious, but breathing more naturally, and with a trained nurse already in attendance.
“Yes, yes, I hope so; but it was an overwhelming shock, of course. Is this terrible news about Lady Rawson true? It seems incredible.”
Thomson passed his hand over his forehead dazedly.
“I suppose it is, sir. I haven’t seemed to have time to think about it. It’s a terrible upset, and Mr. Carling away and all. There’s Lord Warrington. Excuse me, sir. I’d better speak to him.”
There were several people in the hall, including a couple of energetic reporters who had managed to enter and were endeavouring to interrogate the worried butler and anyone else whom they could buttonhole, for the news had spread like wildfire, and outside a crowd had assembled, watching and waiting for the grim homecoming of the woman who had left that house but a few hours before in the full vigour of youth and beauty.
Thomson approached a short, spare, but authoritative-looking man, who had just been admitted, and before whom the others gave way respectfully—Lord Warrington of the Foreign Office.
“Will you come in here, my lord?” he said, and ushered him into the library.