There was another at that table who was as disturbed as Sir Chichester and Lady Splay.  Martin Hillyard knew nothing of the paragraph which had caused this consternation in his hosts; and he had asked no questions last night.  But he remembered every word that Joan had said.  She had seen Mario Escobar somewhere since leaving Rackham Park—­that was certain; and Mario Escobar had demanded information.  “Demanded” was the word which Joan had used.  Mario Escobar was of the blackmailing type.  Martin’s heart was in his mouth.

“An invention about us here?” he asked.

“About one of us,” answered Sir Chichester; and Martin dared ask no more.

Harry Luttrell, however, had none of Martin’s knowledge to restrain him.

“In that case, sir, wouldn’t it be wiser to read it now, aloud?” he suggested.  “It can’t be suppressed now.  Sooner or later every one will hear of it.”

Every one agreed except Hillyard.  To him Harry Luttrell seemed wilfully to be rushing towards catastrophe.

“Yes ... yes,” said Sir Chichester slowly.  He unfolded his newspaper again and read; and of all those who listened no one was more amazed than Hillyard himself.  Mario Escobar had no hand in this abominable work.  For this is what Sir Chichester read: 

“’A mysterious and tragic event has occurred at Rackham Park, where Sir Chichester Splay, the well-known Baronet——­’” He broke off to observe, “Really, it’s put quite civilly, Millie.  It’s a dreadful mistake, but so far as the wording of the Editor is concerned it’s put really more considerately than I noticed at first.”

“Oh, please go on,” cried Millie.

“Very well, my dear,” and he resumed—­“where Sir Chichester Splay, the well-known Baronet is entertaining a small party.  At an early hour this morning Mrs. Croyle, one of Sir Chichester’s guests, died under strange circumstances.”

Miranda uttered a little scream.

“Died!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, listen to this,” said Sir Chichester.  “Mrs. Croyle was discovered lying upon her side with her face bent above a glass of chloroform.  The glass was supported between her pillows and Mrs. Croyle’s fingers were still grasping it when she was discovered.”

A gasp of indignation and horror ran round that breakfast table when Sir Chichester had finished.

“It’s so atrociously circumstantial,” said Mr. Albany Todd.

“Yes.”  Sir Chichester seized upon the point.  “That’s the really damnable point about it.  That’s real malice.  This report will linger and live long after the denial and apology are published.”

Lady Splay raised her head.

“I can’t imagine who can have sent in such a cowardly lie.  Enemies of us?  Or enemies of Stella?”

“We can think that out afterwards, Lady Splay,” said Harold Jupp.  He was of a practical matter-of-fact mind and every one turned to listen to his suggestion.  “The first thing to do is to get the report contradicted in the evening papers.”