He paused a moment, then: 

“Was Sir Marcus interested in some one engaged at the New Avenue Theater?” he asked.

Morris glanced from face to face in a pathetic, troubled fashion.  He rubbed the stubble on his chin again and hesitated.  Finally: 

“I believe,” he replied, “that there was a lady there who—­”

He paused, swallowing, and: 

“Yes,” Gatton prompted, “who—?”

“Who—­interested Sir Marcus; but I don’t know her name nor anything about her,” he declared.  “I knew about—­some of the others, but Sir Marcus was—­very reserved about this lady, which made me think—­”

“Yes?”

“That he perhaps hadn’t been so successful.”

Morris ceased speaking and sat staring at a bookcase vacantly.

“Ah,” murmured Gatton.  Then, abruptly:  “Did Sir Marcus ever visit any one who lived in College Road?” he demanded.

Morris looked up wearily.

“College Road?” he repeated.  “Where is that, sir?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Gatton shortly, “if the name is unfamiliar to you.  Had Sir Marcus a car?”

“Not latterly, sir.”

“Any other servants?”

“No.  As a bachelor he had no use for a large establishment, and Friars’ Park remains in the possession of the late Sir Burnham’s widow.”

“Sir Burnham?  Sir Marcus’s uncle?”

“Yes.”

“What living relatives had Sir Marcus?”

“His aunt—­Lady Burnham Coverly—­with whom I believe he was on bad terms.  Her own son, who ought to have inherited the title, was dead, you see.  I think she felt bitterly towards my master.  The only other relative I ever heard of was Mr. Eric—­Sir Marcus’s second cousin—­now Sir Eric, of course.”

I turned aside, glancing at some books which lay scattered on the table.  The wound was a new one and I suppose I was not man enough to hide the pain which mention of Eric Coverly still occasioned me.

“Were the cousins good friends?” continued the even, remorseless voice of the inquisitor.

Morris looked up quickly.

“They were not, sir,” he answered.  “They never had been.  But some few months back a fresh quarrel arose and one night in this very room it almost came to blows.”

“Indeed?  What was the quarrel about?”

The old hesitancy claimed Morris again, but at last: 

“Of course,” he said, with visible embarrassment, “it was—­a woman.”

I felt my heart leaping wildly, but I managed to preserve an outward show of composure.

“What woman?” demanded Gatton.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Do you mean it?”

A fierce note of challenge had come into the quiet voice, but Morris looked up and met Gatton’s searching stare unflinchingly.

“I swear it,” he said.  “I never was an eavesdropper.”

“I suggest it was the same woman that Sir Marcus went to see last night?” Gatton continued.