Mr. Jacobs, the detective from Scotland Yard, arrived at the Hall a

little after four. He was a short, comfortable-looking person, with a

round, almost boyish face, a pleasant smile and a pair of blue eyes,

with a frank and innocent expression; in fact, anything more unlike the

conventional detective beloved by the fictionist it would be difficult

to imagine. The Inspector had met him at the station, and had gone over

the case with meticulous care; and Mr. Jacobs, smoking placidly, had

listened--well, as you and I, dear reader, would listen to a tale which

had no very great interest for us. If the truth must be told, the worthy

Inspector was rather disappointed; he had expected the great man to

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display a hawk-like acuteness and to ask a number of incisive questions;

but Mr. Jacobs asked none; he said merely, when the recital was

finished, "You have done everything you could, Mr. Smith. Not a very difficult

case, eh?"

"Not difficult!" repeated the Inspector, with surprise. "Have you got a

clue already?"

Mr. Jacobs smiled. "Can't say yet," he replied.

As they drove up to the Hall, Heyton was seen standing just within the

threshold, as if waiting for them.

"Lord Heyton, the Marquess's son," whispered the Inspector.

Mr. Jacobs nodded; he did not direct a piercing glance at Heyton's pale

face and bloodshot eyes, with their swollen lids; in fact, he did not

appear to notice anything, as he went forward, hat in hand.

A few words of commonplace greeting were exchanged; Mr. Jacobs expressed

his sympathy in a low voice, devoid of any acuteness, and Heyton drew a

breath of relief, as he led the way into the library; to him it seemed

that the man from Scotland Yard looked rather stupid than otherwise. Mr.

Jacobs took a seat, and Heyton, of his own accord, repeated, almost word

for word, the account he had given to the Inspector.

"It's my opinion," he wound up, "that you'll find the man amongst those

blackguard gipsies."

"Yes, my lord?" responded the detective, interrogatively. Then he went

upstairs to the dressing-room. "I think I should like to be alone in

here, my lord, if you don't mind," he said.

He took the key from the Inspector, and went in, closing the door after

him. When he came out, his round, innocent-looking face was grave, but

revealed nothing.

"Has the Marquess recovered consciousness?" he asked.

"Not yet, I am sorry to say," replied Heyton. "They are keeping the room

very quiet, and my wife will tell me the moment my father comes to."




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