"Got a rotten headache," he explained to Cleek's unspoken inquiry. "Can't think what's caused it, either, unless it's the gas, and——"
"Gas!" exclaimed Cleek, suddenly. "How's that? I thought you used electricity for lighting?"
"So we do, but I made some nitrous oxide yesterday—one of the kids had toothache, and I pulled out the molar. Came like lightning, too, but that little fool of a governess fainted just as I was going to administer the gas—you learn to do a lot of things shut off in the country, you know, sir. So I had to make some more of the stuff. It escaped, no doubt, and that's what's given me this beastly head."
"Very probably." Cleek's detached air seemed to dismiss the affair. His eyes were fixed upon one of the Bunsen burners beneath which stood a retort labelled plainly enough, "Nitrous Oxide." Casually he picked up a strand of hair and seemed to cast it away, absent-mindedly. Suddenly he switched round upon his heel.
"Did you have that headache last night?" he asked, his hand resting for a moment upon the retort.
"No, I didn't notice it, but I was so dead beat that I simply flung myself down and slept like a log."
"H'm," Cleek said, thoughtfully. "Well, Captain, there is very little to be gained here. Still, I should like to go through some of the rooms of the house myself, if you've no objection."
"Why, of course not. Do as you please. But it's no use suspecting the servants because they couldn't get past the guard, and——"
"I suppose not. But I'll have a talk with that guard, too, if you don't mind. It's as well to take all precautions."