In a few moments he came forward, sedate and grave, and somewhat surprised, I think, at my presence there.

"This is really a most terrible thing, my dear Kemball," he exclaimed, his face pale. "I only knew of it late last night. The police and doctors seem to have kept the affair secret as long as they could."

"I saw it in the paper, and came over at once," I said. "What is your opinion?" I asked eagerly. "Is foul play suspected?"

"I really don't know," was his vague answer, as he stood in the wide, old-fashioned hall. "It's a terrible thing, however. Poor Asta! she is overcome with grief, poor girl."

"Ah yes?" I sighed. "She was very fond of him; I realised that the other day."

Together we walked into a handsomely furnished sitting-room--the morning-room I supposed it to be--and there I was introduced to a fussy elderly man in tweeds named Redwood, the local doctor from Corby. He was a bluff, red-faced, clean-shaven man, a good type of the fox-hunting doctor of the gra.s.s-country.

"Well, Mr Shaw," he exclaimed briskly, "Doctor Petherbridge, from Northampton, and myself have made a post-mortem, and we have come to the conclusion that death was due to natural causes--inflammation of the brain. We have made most minute examination, but can discover no trace whatever of foul play."

"Nor of suicide--by poison, for instance?" asked Shaw, leaning with his back against the table, while the sun shone brightly across the pale blue carpet.

"Certainly not. We have had that in mind, but fail to find any trace whatsoever, though Petherbridge is taking the contents of the stomach into. Northampton for a.n.a.lysis, in order to thoroughly satisfy ourselves. Our conclusions are, however, that probably while seated in his armchair in the library reading his paper, as was his habit before going to bed, he was suddenly attacked, shrieked with pain, and quickly collapsed. Such fatal seizures are by no means uncommon."

"But, doctor, the papers say that a noise of hammering was heard," I remarked.

"Captain Cardew, who heard the shriek, is not actually certain about the hammering, it seems," replied Shaw. "The poor fellow was in the best of spirits and quite well when Asta and I left him about a quarter-past eleven. We dined here with some people named Sweetman, the Vanes from Oundle, and Mr Justice Michelmore, who is staying with them. The judge was talking with him on the steps when we left."

"n.o.body who partook of the dinner felt any unusual symptoms, or one might suspect ptomaine poisoning," remarked the doctor from Northampton, a short, grey-headed little man, who had at that moment entered the room. "My distinct opinion is that, though the affair appears most mysterious, yet it is due to perfectly natural causes."

"And I suppose that is the evidence you will give before the Coroner to-morrow, eh?" Shaw asked.

"Precisely. I shall have a searching a.n.a.lysis of the stomach, of course. Indeed, I'm just off to Northampton for that purpose. But I do not antic.i.p.ate finding anything. Young Nicholson was not the kind of fellow to take his own life."

"No," I said; "he certainly did not strike me as having any tendencies towards suicide. Yet, from what the papers say, the affair is most mysterious."

"Oh, the papers!" laughed Shaw, derisively. "They're always sensational. A good story means hundreds of pounds to them. But," he added, "I must be off, Kemball. I was just going when you came. I have to be on the Bench this morning at twelve."

"Please express my most sincere condolence with Miss Seymour," I said.

"You and I will meet again soon, no doubt."

"My dear fellow, just come over whenever you like. Better ring me on the 'phone to see if we are at home, for we're often out in the car this fine weather."

And, taking my hand, the man who in his dual life was a county magistrate, and was about to sit and administer justice from the Bench, gripped my hand and went out, followed by the Northampton doctor, who a moment later I saw with two large gla.s.s jam-jars in his hand. Yet almost directly after I heard a low, peculiar whistle emanating from an adjoining room. Shaw was whistling to himself--even though the house was a house of mourning!

Left alone with Doctor Redwood I began to question him, explaining that I was a friend of the man now dead.

"Well," he said, "I can't tell you very much, Mr Kemball. Captain Cardew, who was Nicholson's guest, is in the library. At least I left him there a little time ago; let's go and find him."

So he conducted me along a well-carpeted corridor where the doors, I noticed, were of polished mahogany, and opening one, I found myself in a long, low, old-fashioned room, lined with brown-backed books from the floor to the panelled ceiling. At the table a tall, fair-haired, military-looking young man was seated writing letters.

I introduced myself, whereupon he rose, and expressed his readiness to answer any questions, as I was poor Guy's friend, the doctor, having some matters to attend to with his colleague, leaving us alone. When he had gone I closed the door. Then, turning to the dead man's guest, I said in a low voice--"I wonder, Captain Cardew, if I might speak to you in absolute confidence?"

"Certainly," he said; "we are mutual friends of poor Guy's."

"Well," I exclaimed; "first, will you tell me, frankly, your private opinion of this terrible affair? Has there been foul play?"

I saw that he hesitated.

"Well," he replied, "there are certain curious circ.u.mstances which no doubt point to such a conclusion, although I understand that the doctors have had no hesitation in p.r.o.nouncing death to be due to natural causes."

"Would you mind describing to me, as far as you are able, what you heard in the night?" I said. "I have a reason for asking this. No doubt you have already several times told your story."

"Yes. To the medical men and also to the police," he said. "Well, it was like this. I'm quartered at Canterbury, and Guy, who was in my regiment and retired a year or so ago, asked me to spend a few days with him. I came here three days ago and found him in the highest of spirits, and very keen about tennis. He took me over to see a man named Shaw, and his daughter, of whom he was, I know, very fond. The night before last he gave a little dinner to a few people, and Shaw and the girl were here. After dinner we all went out on to the lawn for coffee.

The place was hung with Chinese lanterns and looked charming, but all Guy's attention was devoted towards entertaining Shaw's daughter. I saw them cross the lawn in the moonlight and stroll into the grounds together; and when they came back I overheard Shaw expressing his annoyance to her at her absence. Shaw chatted with Justice Michelmore a good deal, while I had a Mrs Vane, a rather stout person, put upon me for the evening. I tell you I envied Guy, for the girl is really delightful."

"Was there any bridge?"

"Yes, for about an hour in the drawing-room. Shaw and the Judge did not play. Before eleven the guests began to depart, and the Vanes, the last to leave, went about midnight. After they had gone I sat in the library with Guy for half an hour, and had a cigar. He was full of Asta Seymour, and when I asked him why he did not propose to her he reflected a moment, and then told me, in strict confidence, that he would do so at once--but for a certain circ.u.mstance."

"Did he explain that circ.u.mstance?" I asked eagerly.

"No. I pressed him, but he refused to tell me. `It is my secret, Teddy,' he said. `A secret which, alas! bars my happiness for ever.'

As we smoked, I noticed that, contrary to the rule, the long window yonder was open, and remarked upon it. He rose, and saying that the servant had probably forgotten it, closed it himself and barred the shutters. You'll see they are strong shutters, and they were found in the morning closed and barred just as he had left them. Indeed, I unbarred them myself."

"Then you left him here?" I asked.

"No. He turned off the light and came out with me, locking the door after him, for it seems he's always careful to have every door on the ground floor locked at night. He came upstairs with me, wished me a cheery good-night outside my own door, and, promising to motor me into Oakham on the morrow, went along to his room. That is the last time he was seen alive."

"What did you next hear?"

"I was awakened by a loud, piercing shriek--a man's shriek of intense horror, it seemed. No one else slept in this wing of the house, or they must certainly have heard it. I roused myself at the unusual sound, for I was thoroughly startled and awakened by it. The clock on my mantelshelf struck two. I waited for some minutes, when I heard a noise which seemed to be below in the library, as though some one were moving about trying the door and hammering upon it. This caused me to wonder, and I held my breath to listen further. I suppose I must have lain like that for fully an hour. It was my intention if I heard anything further to go along to Guy's room. I had, of course, some hesitation in arousing the household. But as I heard nothing further, I suppose I fell asleep, for the sun was shining when I awoke again. I got up, and was crossing to the window to look out when I heard a woman's cry for help. So I rushed out in my pyjamas, and, descending the stairs, found poor Guy lying just here," and he crossed to a spot about four yards from the door, and pointed to the red carpet.

"Was the room in any disorder?" I asked.

"Not as far as I could see. The shutters yonder were closed and barred, so I opened them and then tried to rouse my friend. But, alas! I saw by the ashen look upon his face that he was already dead. He was still in his dinner-jacket--just as I had left him. Of course you can well imagine the scene and the horror of the servants. Poor Guy--he was one of the very best."

"What is your theory, Captain Cardew?"

"Theory! Well, I hardly know. I was a fool, and I shall never forgive myself for not raising an alarm when I first heard his shriek. I ought to have known that something was wrong. But there are moments in one's life when one, being awakened suddenly, acts foolishly. It was so with me."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE CRY IN THE NIGHT.

"After leaving you at the door of your room he must have returned to the library," I said to Cardew. "Were all the lights out when he came up with you?"

"By Jove! No, they were not," he replied. "He didn't turn out the light in the pa.s.sage here just outside the library door. I have not remembered that point until this moment!"

"Did you see any newspaper about?"

"Yes, there was one lying near that armchair over there," and he pointed to a big saddle-bag chair in dark green plush, where a large embroidered cushion of pale violet velvet lay crushed and crumpled, just as the unfortunate man had arisen from it.

"Then it is probable that after leaving you he made up his mind to return to the library and read his paper as usual," I said. "He did so, and, lighting up again, flung himself into his favourite chair to read."