“And it is just twelve o’clock,” muttered the stout little lord, wiping his scarlet face pettishly.  “Ill news travels fast.  However, as you are here, you may as well take charge of things until the London men arrive.”

“The London men aren’t going to usurp my privileges, my lord,” said Darby, firmly.  “There’s no sense in taking matters out of my hands.  And if you will pardon my saying so, I should have been sent for in the first instance.”

“I daresay,” snapped Garvington, coolly.  “But the matter is too important to be left in the hands of a local policeman.”

Darby was nettled, and his hard eyes grew angry.  “I am quite competent to deal with any murder, even if it is that of the highest in England, much less with the death of a common gypsy.”

“That’s just where it is, Darby.  The common gypsy who has been shot happens to be my brother-in-law.”

“Sir Hubert Pine?” questioned the inspector, thoroughly taken aback.

“Yes!  Of course I didn’t know him when I fired, or I should not have done so, Darby.  I understood, and his wife, my sister, understood, that Sir Hubert was in Paris.  It passes my comprehension to guess why he should have come in the dead of night, dressed as a gypsy, to raid my house.”

“Perhaps it was a bet,” said Darby, desperately puzzled.

“Bet, be hanged!  Pine could come openly to this place whenever he liked.  I never was so astonished in my life as when I saw him lying dead near the shrubbery.  And the worst of it is, that my sister ran out and saw him also.  She fainted and has been in bed ever since, attended by Lady Garvington.”

“You had no idea that the man you shot was Sir Hubert, my lord?”

“Hang it, no!  Would I have shot him had I guessed who he was?”

“No, no, my lord! of course not,” said the officer hastily.  “But as I have come to take charge of the case, you will give me a detailed account of what has taken place.”

“I would rather wait until the Scotland Yard fellows come,” grumbled Garvington, “as I don’t wish to repeat my story twice.  Still, as you are on the spot, I may as well ask your advice.  You may be able to throw some light on the subject.  I’m hanged if I can.”

Darby pulled out his notebook.  “I am all attention, my lord.”

Garvington plunged abruptly into his account, first having looked to see if the library door was firmly closed.  “As there have been many burglaries lately in this part of the world,” he said, speaking with deliberation, “I got an idea into my head that this house might be broken into.”

“Natural enough, my lord,” interposed Darby, glancing round the splendid room.  “A historic house such as this is, would tempt any burglar.”

“So I thought,” remarked the other, pleased that Darby should agree with him so promptly.  “And I declared several times, within the hearing of many people, that if a raid was made, I should shoot the first man who tried to enter.  Hang it, an Englishman’s house is his castle, and no man has a right to come in without permission.”