“An English breakfast, my dear Quest,” he remarked, after they had exchanged the usual greetings, “will, I am sure, appeal to you.  I am not, I confess, given to the pleasures of the table, but if anything could move me to enthusiasm in dietary matters, the sight of your sideboard, my dear sister-in-law, would do so.  I commend the bacon and eggs to you, Quest, or if you prefer sausages, those long, thin ones are home-made and delicious.  Does Mrs. Bland still cure our hams, Julia?”

“Her daughter does,” Lady Ashleigh replied, smiling.  “We are almost self-supporting here.  All our daily produce, of course, comes from the home farm.  Tea or coffee, Mr. Quest?”

“Coffee, if you please,” Quest decided, returning from his visit to the sideboard.  “Is Lord Ashleigh a late riser?”

“Not by any means,” his wife declared.  “He very often gets up and rides in the park before breakfast.  I don’t know where he is this morning.  He didn’t even come in to see me.  I think we must send up.”

She touched an electric bell under her foot and a moment or two later the butler appeared.

“Go up and see how long your master will be,” Lady Ashleigh directed.

“Very good, your ladyship.”

The man was backing through the doorway in his usual dignified manner when he was suddenly pushed to one side.  The valet who had waited upon Quest, and who was Lord Ashleigh’s own servant, rushed into the room.  His face was white.  He had forgotten all decorum.  He almost shouted to Lady Ashleigh.

“Your ladyship—­the master!  Something has happened!  He won’t move!  He—­he—­”

They all rose to their feet.  Quest groaned to himself.  The black box!

“What do you mean?” Lady Ashleigh faltered.  “What do you mean, Williams?”

The man shook his head.  He seemed almost incapable of speech.

“Something has happened to the master!”

They all trooped out of the room and up the stairs, the Professor leading the way.  They pushed open the door of Lord Ashleigh’s bedchamber.  In the far corner of the large room was the four-poster, and underneath the clothes a silent figure.  The Professor turned down the sheets.  Then he held out his hand.  His face, too, was blanched.

“Julia, don’t come,” he begged.

“I must know!” she almost shrieked.  “I must know!”

“George is dead,” the Professor said slowly.

There was a moment’s awful silence, broken by a piercing scream from Lady Ashleigh.  She sank down upon the sofa and the Professor leaned over her.  Quest turned to the little group of frightened servants who were gathering round the doorway.

“Telephone for a doctor,” he ordered, “also to the local police-station.”

[Illustration:  “FOR GOD’S SAKE, COME!  MY MASTER HAS BEEN STRANGLED TO DEATH.”]

[Illustration:  “LADY ASHLEIGH, I WILL FIND AND BRING TO JUSTICE, THE CRIMINAL.”]