“Of course, I quite understand,” Major Hartley said. “But you will also appreciate that I must come with you. I cannot allow you to leave the room alone, my Lord, and perhaps warn the person we are seeking so that he can get away.”

“But – damn it all,” Lord Lynche exclaimed, “this is like a melodrama in one of the playhouses!”

“I am sorry it should appear like that,” Major Hartley answered, “but I have to do my duty.”

“Of course,” Lord Lynche agreed. “Would you like to start with searching this room or perhaps interrogate my guests? Miss Claverly, I know, will be able to tell you that she has seen no sinister characters lurking about the corridors or hiding in the attics.”

“I don’t think we shall find the person we are seeking in the attics, but in the Tudor wing,” Major Hartley said. “Unless, of course, we have been misinformed.”

“Then the Tudor wing is at your disposal,” Lord Lynche said.

He spoke easily and calmly, but there was a little pulse beating in his neck that told Carina that he was by no means as confident as he sounded.

‘They will test the panelling,’ she thought. ‘They will knock on it and hear the hollow sound where the door is concealed.’

She imagined them bursting in and discovering the man with the white hair.

Then she found the answer to one question that had puzzled her.

“Giles Lynche!” the Chief Constable had said.

So it was Lord Lynche’s brother who lay there. But he looked old!

“Shall I lead the way?” Lord Lynche enquired. “Are you certain that you will not have a drink before you start?”

“Quite certain, thank you,” the Chief Constable answered grimly.

It was obvious that he was feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable at the task he had to perform and he was much the most awkward of the three as they walked from the room into the hall.

Here a dozen Policemen stood and muttered an uncomfortable “good evening, my Lord,” to Lord Lynche’s courteous greeting.

Still moving slowly without apparently the least concern Lord Lynche walked past them into the inner hall where the great staircase curved upwards. Carina, the Chief Constable and, lastly, the Policemen followed him.

The candles in the sconces were already lit and for a moment the light seemed almost dazzling.

“This way, if you please,” Lord Lynche said, his foot on the first stair.

Then a voice from above commanded,

“Wait!”

Carina looked upwards and gave an audible gasp.

Standing at the top of the stairs, her hand on the banister as if to support herself, was the Dowager!

She was wearing a white robe of satin and lace. Her diamonds glittered and shone not only in the light of the candles but in the brilliant illumination of an oil lamp that had been put beside her on a low table.