There was a knock at the door and Grant presented himself.  To all appearance he was, as ever, the perfect butler.  It was only Wingate who saw that quick, questioning look, the hovering of his hand about his pocket; who knew that, if necessary, there was no risk which this man would not run.

“The doctor has arrived, sir,” he announced.

“You had better show him in,” Wingate replied.  “And, Grant.”

“Yes, sir?”

“It would be as well, I think, to let her ladyship be informed that Lord Dredlinton is ill—­very ill.”

The man bowed and stood on one side as the doctor entered.  The latter paused for a moment in astonishment as he looked upon the scene.  Then he moved towards one of the windows and threw it up.

“If Lord Dredlinton has been sitting for long in an atmosphere like this,” he observed drily, “it’s enough to have killed him.”

He glanced around with an air of distaste at Phipps and Rees, at the debris of the presumed debauch, and stooped over the body stretched upon the sofa.  His examination lasted barely a minute.  Then he rose to his feet.

“Lord Dredlinton is dead,” he announced in a shocked tone.

“I feared so,” Wingate murmured.

“Will you call in some servants?” the doctor went on.  “I should like the body carried into his lordship’s bedroom at once.”

Grant appeared, quickly followed by two of his subordinates.  The melancholy little procession left the room, and Shields turned to follow it.  As he reached the door, he hesitated and glanced around towards Wingate.

“Mr. Wingate,” he said, “I wish to hear what the doctor has to say concerning Lord Dredlinton’s death, but I also wish to have another word with you before you leave the house.  Can I rely upon your waiting here for me?”

“I give you my word,” Wingate promised.

“I shall also require some explanation,” the inspector continued, turning to Phipps—­

“Explanation be damned!” the latter interrupted furiously.  “If you want to know the truth about the whole business—­”

He broke off suddenly.  His eyes seemed fascinated by the slow entry of Wingate’s hand to his pocket.  He kicked a footstool sullenly on one side.  The inspector, after waiting for a moment, turned away.

“In due season,” he concluded, “I shall require to hear the truth from both of you gentlemen.  You seem to have given Scotland Yard a great deal of unnecessary trouble.”

The telephone bell began to ring as the door closed.  Wingate took up the receiver, listened for a moment and passed the instrument over to Phipps.  The latter presently replaced the receiver upon its hook with a little groan.

“You’ve broken us,” he announced grimly.

“No news has ever given me greater pleasure.”  Wingate replied.

Stanley Rees rose to his feet.

“We are not prisoners any more, I suppose?” he asked sullenly.  “I am going home.”