"And I'm quite absurdly fond of you, Nigel," she acknowledged. "It makes
me feel quite uncomfortable when I reflect that I shall probably have to
order you to make love to some one else before the week is out."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," he declared firmly. "I am not good at
that sort of thing. And who is she, anyhow?"

They were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door--not the discreet
tap of a well-bred domestic, but a flurried, almost an imperative
summons. Before either of them could reply, the door was opened and
Brookes, the elderly butler, presented himself upon the threshold. Even
before he spoke, it was clear that he brought alarming news.

"Will you step down to the library at once, sir?" he begged, addressing
Nigel.

"What is the matter, Brookes?" Maggie demanded anxiously.

"I fear that his lordship is not well," the man replied.

They all hurried out together. Brookes was evidently terribly perturbed
and went on talking half to himself without heeding their questions.

"I thought at first that his lordship must have fainted," he said. "I
heard a queer noise, and when I went in, he had fallen forward across
the table. Parkins has rung for Doctor Wilcox."

"What sort of a noise?" Nigel asked.

"It sounded like a shot," the man faltered.