Cecil de la Borne glanced at the clock.

“It is nearly eleven o’clock,” he said.  “The servants will have gone to bed.  I must go and see who that is.”

No one attempted to stop him.  They heard his footsteps go echoing down the silent hall.  They heard the harsh clanking of the chain as he drew it back, and the opening of the heavy door.  They all looked at one another in tense expectation.  They heard Cecil’s challenge, and they heard muffled voices outside.  Then there came the closing of the door, and the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall.  Forrest grasped the table with both hands, and his face was bloodless.  The Princess leaned towards him.

“For God’s sake, Nigel,” she whispered in his ear, “pull yourself together!  One look into your face is enough to give the whole show away.  Even Jeanne there is watching you.”

The man made an effort.  Even as the footsteps drew near he dashed some brandy into a tumbler and drank it off.  Cecil de la Borne entered, followed by the man who had been Andrew’s guest and another, a small dark person with glasses, and a professional air.  Cecil, who had been a little in front, turned round to usher them in.

“I cannot keep you out of my house, gentlemen, I suppose,” he said, “although I consider that your intrusion at such an hour is entirely unwarrantable.  I regret that I have no other room in which I can receive you.  What you have to say to me, you can say here before my friends.  If I remember rightly,” he added, “your name is Berners, and you are lodging in this neighbourhood.”

The man who had called himself Berners bowed to the Princess and Jeanne before replying.  His manner was grave, but not in any way threatening.  His companion stood behind him and remained silent.

“I have called myself Berners,” he said, “because it is more convenient at times to do so.  I am Richard Berners, Duke of Westerham.  A recent guest of yours—­Lord Ronald—­is my younger brother.”

The silence which reigned in the room might almost have been felt.  The Duke, looking from one to the other, grew graver.

“I suppose,” he continued, “I ought to apologize for coming here so late at night, but my solicitor has only just arrived from London, and reported to me the result of some inquiries he has been making.  Ronald is my favourite brother, although I have not seen much of him lately.  I trust, therefore,” he continued, still speaking to Cecil de la Borne, “that you will pardon my intrusion when I explain that from the moment of quitting your house my brother seems to have completely disappeared.  I have come to ask you if you can give me any information as to the circumstances of his leaving, and whether he told you his destination.”

Cecil de la Borne was white to the lips, but he was on the point of answering when the Princess intervened.  She leaned forward toward the newcomer, and her face expressed the most genuine concern.