Thus arguing they had been descending the stairs. They were now in the hall, where the butler, having replaced the gongstick, was advancing toward them at a grave and dignified pace.

‘It is the second,’ persisted Joan. ‘I know it is. Well, for one thing, look at the time.’

Harry Dalehouse glanced up at the grandfather clock.

‘Just twelve minutes past eight,’ he remarked. ‘Joan, I believe you’re right, but I never heard the first one. Digby,’ he addressed the butler, ‘is this the first gong or the second?’

‘The first, sir.’

‘At twelve minutes past eight? Digby, somebody will get the sack for this.’

A faint smile showed for a minute on the butler’s face.

‘Dinner is being served ten minutes later tonight, sir. The master’s orders.’

‘Incredible!’ cried Harry Dalehouse. ‘Tut, tut! Upon my word, things are coming to a pretty pass! Wonders will never cease. What ails my revered uncle?’

‘The seven o’clock train, sir, was half an hour late, and as–’ The butler broke off, as a sound like the crack of a whip was heard.

‘What on earth–’ said Harry. ‘Why, that sounded exactly like a shot.’

A dark, handsome man of thirty-five came out of the drawing room on their left.

‘What was that?’ he asked. ‘It sounded exactly like a shot.’

‘It must have been a car backfiring, sir,’ said the butler. ‘The road runs quite close to the house this side and the upstairs windows are open.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Joan doubtfully. ‘But that would be over there.’ She waved a hand to the right. ‘And I thought the noise came from here.’ She pointed to the left.

The dark man shook his head.

‘I don’t think so. I was in the drawing room. I came out here because I thought the noise came from this direction.’ He nodded his head in front of him in the direction of the gong and the front door.

‘East, west, and south, eh?’ said the irrepressible Harry. ‘Well, I’ll make it complete, Keene. North for me. I thought it came from behind us. Any solutions offered?’

‘Well, there’s always murder,’ said Geoffrey Keene, smiling. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ashby.’

‘Only a shiver,’ said Joan. ‘It’s nothing. A what-do-you-call-it walking over my grave.’

‘A good thought–murder,’ said Harry. ‘But, alas! No groans, no blood. I fear the solution is a poacher after a rabbit.’

‘Seems tame, but I suppose that’s it,’ agreed the other. ‘But it sounded so near. However, let’s come into the drawing room.’

‘Thank goodness, we’re not late,’ said Joan fervently. ‘I was simply haring it down the stairs thinking that was the second gong.’

All laughing, they went into the big drawing room.