Godfrey was back in a moment.

“That doctor was the nearest one I could find,” he said.  “He seems to be all right.  But if Miss Vaughan isn’t better in the morning, I’ll get a specialist out.”

“Godfrey,” I said, in a low tone, “there’s something the matter with Swain,” and I motioned to where he sat, flaccid and limp, apparently half-asleep.  “He is suffering from shock, or something of that sort.  It’s something more, anyway, than over-wrought nerves.  He seems to be only half-conscious.”

“I noticed it,” said Godfrey, with a little nod.  “We’ll have the doctor look at him when he comes down,” and he sank wearily into a chair.  “This has been a pretty strenuous night, Lester.”

“Yes; and it isn’t over yet.  I wonder what the man with the snake is doing?”

“Still staring into the crystal, no doubt.  Do you want to go and see?”

“No,” I said decidedly, “I don’t.  Godfrey,” I added, “doesn’t the absence of servants seem strange to you?”

“Very strange.  But, I dare say, we’ll find them around somewhere—­though they seem to be sound sleepers!  We didn’t look through the whole house, you know.  I’m not going to, either; I’m going to let the police do that.  They ought to be here pretty soon.  I told Simmonds to bring two or three men with him.”

I glanced at the huddled body of the murdered man.  With all the night’s excitements and surprises, we had not even touched upon that mystery.  Not a single gleam of light had been shed upon it, and yet it was the centre about which all these other strange occurrences revolved.  Whose hand was it had thrown that cord about the throat and drawn it tight?  What motive lay behind?  Fearsome and compelling must the motive be to drive a man to such a crime!  Would Simmonds be able to divine that motive, to build the case up bit by bit until the murderer was found?  Would Godfrey?

I turned my head to look at him.  He was lying back in his chair, his eyes closed, apparently lost in thought, and for long minutes there was no movement in the room.

At last the doctor returned, looking more cheerful than when he had left the room.  He had given Miss Vaughan an opiate and she was sleeping calmly; the nervous trembling had subsided and he hoped that when she waked she would be much better.  The danger was that brain fever might develop; she had evidently suffered a very severe shock.

“Yes,” said Godfrey, “she discovered her father strangled in the chair yonder.”

“I saw the body when I came in,” the doctor remarked, imperturbably.  “So it’s her father, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And strangled, you say?”

Godfrey answered with a gesture, and the doctor walked over to the body, glanced at the neck, then disengaged one of the tightly clenched hands from the chair-arm, raised it and let it fall.  I could not but envy his admirable self-control.

“How long has he been dead?” Godfrey asked.