The barrister commenced to study the moulding in the centre of the
ceiling.

"He was succeeded by his grandson, a little lad of eight. In 1807, after a
heavy drinking bout, the second Sir Alan Hume-Frazer cut his throat, and
chose the scene of his ancestor's duel for the operation."

"A remarkable coincidence!"

"In 1842, during a bread riot, the third baronet was stabbed with a
pitchfork whilst facing a mob in the same place. Then a long interval
occurred. Again a small child became the heir. Three years ago the fourth
baronet expired whilst the library windows were being opened to admit the
litter on which he was carried from the hunting-field. The fate of the
fifth you know."

Brett's chair emitted a series of squeaks as he urged it closer to the
wall. At the proper distance he stretched out his leg and pressed an
electric bell with his toe.

"Decanters and syphons, Smith," he cried, when the door opened.

"Which do you take, whisky or brandy, Mr. Hume?" he inquired.

"Whisky. But I assure you I am quite serious. These things--"

"Serious! If my name were Hume-Frazer, nothing less than a runaway
steam-engine would take me to Beechcroft. I have never previously heard
such a marvellous recital."