“Yes, she is now.”

“Has she said anything more?”

“No.”

Lily stood silent a moment, gazing absently down at the lighted hall below, then she looked at her brother as though she, too, were about to speak, but, like her father, she reconsidered the impulse, and went away toward the nursery.

Later his mother opened the door very softly, let herself and Stephanie out, and stood looking at him, one finger across her lips, while Stephanie hurried away downstairs.

“She’s asleep, Louis.  Don’t raise your voice—­” as he stepped quickly toward her.

“Is it anything serious?” he asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know what Dr. Ogilvy thinks.  He is coming out in a moment....”  She placed one hand on her son’s shoulder, reddening a trifle.  “I’ve told William Ogilvy that she is a friend of—­the family.  He may have heard Sam talking about her when he was here last.  So I thought it safer.”

Neville brought a chair for his mother, but she shook her head, cautioning silence, and went noiselessly downstairs.

[Illustration:  “‘Well, Louis, what do you know about this?’”]

Half an hour later Dr. Ogilvy emerged, saw Neville—­walked up and inspected him, curiously.

“Well, Louis, what do you know about this?” he asked, buttoning his big thick rain-coat to the throat.

“Absolutely nothing, Billy, except that Miss West, who is a guest of the Countess d’Enver at Estwich, lost her way in the woods.  How is she now?”

“All right,” said the doctor, dryly.

“Is she conscious?”

“Perfectly.”

“Awake?”

“Yes.  She won’t be—­long.”

“Did she talk to you?”

“A little.”

“What is the matter?”

“Fright.  And I’m wondering whether merely being lost in the woods is enough to have terrified a girl like that?  Because, apparently, she is as superb a specimen of healthy womanhood as this world manufactures once in a hundred years.  How well do you know her?”

“We are very close friends.”

“H’m.  Did you suppose she was the kind of woman to be frightened at merely being lost in a civilised country?”

“No.  She has more courage—­of all kinds—­than most women.”

“Because,” said the big doctor thoughtfully, “while she was unconscious it took me ten minutes to pry open her fingers and disengage a rather heavy dog-whip from her clutch....  And there was some evidences of blood on the lash and on the bone handle.”

“What!” exclaimed Neville, amazed.

The doctor shrugged:  “I don’t know of any fierce and vicious dogs between here and Estwich, either,” he mused.

“No, Cardemon keeps none.  And its mostly his estate.”

“Oh ...  Any—­h’m!—­vicious men—­in his employment?”

“My God!” whispered Neville, “what do you mean, Billy?”

“Finger imprints—­black and blue—­on both arms.  Didn’t Miss West say anything that might enlighten you?”