The Inspector was in the hall and Heyton signed to him to follow into the library.
"This is dreadful news, my lord," said the Inspector.
"Rather!" assented Heyton.

He was very pale, and his hair was dank with sweat, and his tongue moved over his lips thickly, with a restless, feverish movement.

"Here, we'd better have a drink before we begin.

I'm terribly upset.

Only natural, eh, Inspector ?--Own father, you know ?--Bring in some soda and whisky," he ordered the footman who answered the bell.
"Not for me, my lord, thank you," said the Inspector, respectfully.
Heyton poured out half a glassful of whisky, made a pretence of adding soda, and swallowed the spirit.
"Absolutely upset," he said, wiping his lips on his handkerchief.