The news of the tragedy in Threeways Spinny reached Stanbrook about nine o\'clock in the morning. The body of the murdered man had already been taken home, and it was Mrs. Dinkel\'s next-door neighbor who was deputed to convey the sad tidings to her.

She was on the point of taking the Squire\'s breakfast upstairs when the man arrived at the Hall, and asked to see her.

Ten minutes later Mrs. Dinkel entered her patient\'s room. Like the thoughtful creature she was, even in the midst of her distress she had not forgotten the breakfast tray. Having placed it on the table by the bedside, she turned to the Squire, and, in a voice which not all her efforts could render firm, said:

"Sir, a great misfortune has befallen me--the most terrible that could have happened. My son has been murdered! The tidings have just reached me. His body was found early this morning in Threeways Spinny. He had been shot through the heart--he who had not an enemy in the world! Sir, I must leave here at once. I am wanted at home, as you can well conceive; but if----"

"Dead! your son dead!" shrieked the Squire, almost as shrilly as a woman might have done. Then for a few seconds he remained speechless. His heart stopped beating, and a black veil dropped before his eyes. But the very force of the shock brought its own reaction. He flung up his arms, and then let them drop helplessly on the bed. "In that case, what is to become of me?" he moaned.

"The Lord in heaven only knows, sir, for I\'m sure I don\'t," answered Mrs. Dinkel. It was all she could do to crush down her emotion.

The Squire sank back on his pillow with a groan. The bereaved mother stood looking at him, anxious to go, and yet, so strong was the professional instinct in her, not liking to leave him.

Of a sudden he beckoned her to go closer to him, and when she had done so he clutched her by the sleeve of her gown. In three short minutes his face seemed to have aged a dozen years. His lips had turned of a grayish purple, and a thin froth had gathered at their corners. His eyes were the eyes of a terror-hunted soul brought to bay, and yet ready to turn and curse with its latest breath the inexorable fate which had driven it there.

"Don\'t think I do not pity you, because that would be a mistake on your part," he said. "I pity you and sympathize with you most sincerely. But--but your son must have left a lot of the drug--you know what I mean--behind him. Don\'t you think so, hey? And--and as soon as ever you can spare time--in the course of the day, you know--you will have a thorough search made, and ascertain the quantity, and let me know at the earliest possible moment, won\'t you? Yes, yes; he must have left quite a considerable quantity ready prepared. I feel sure of it; so don\'t forget to send me word as soon as you can."

There was a terrible eagerness in the way he spoke, and he would not loose his hold of her till she had promised him, that he should hear from her in the course of the forenoon.

When she was gone her place was taken by Miss Baynard.

That morning the Squire\'s breakfast was sent away untasted, and he made no effort to get up. Anxiety held him as with a vise--an anxiety shot through and through with forebodings the most dire. He lay without speaking, watching with feverish eyes the slow-moving fingers of the clock on the chimney-piece, each of whose solemn ticks seemed to him to mark a stitch in the tapestry of Doom. It was a few minutes past two when a servant brought upstairs a small sealed packet, together with a letter, both of them addressed to "Ambrose Cortelyon, Esq.," and both of them just brought by a special messenger. The sick man had no need to ask who was the sender.

"Open the letter and read it aloud, Nell," he said, as soon as the servant had left the room. It was not merely that he had lost the control of his fingers--he shook from head to foot like one in an ague fit.

Nell did as she was bidden.

"Honored Sir" (she read), "In accordance with your wish and my own promise, I have made diligent and careful search in every corner, cupboard, and drawer of the room in which my poor son mixed his physics and attended to his doctoring business, with the result (and it grieves me much to have to tell it you) that I have not succeeded in finding more than two phials of the stuff ready mixed for taking, the which, under cover, I herewith send you.

"It would appear to have been my son\'s custom not to prepare any large quantity of the drug beforehand, perhaps--but on this point I speak without certainty--because he found that some portion of its virtue was lost with keeping.

"I remain, honored sir,

"Your obedient, humble servant,

"Martha Dinkel.

"P.S.--Since writing the above I have made another thorough search, high and low, in every nook and corner of the premises, but it has proved a sheer waste of time.

"Mr. Cortelyon, sir, in the midst of my own distress, permit me respectfully to observe that my heart bleeds for you."

When Nell had read to the last word, the Squire made no comment aloud, only to himself he murmured: "Mors ultima linea rerum est." He had not opened his Horace for years, but the line came back to him quite freshly to-day. He knew that he was a doomed man, and that no earthly power could save him. Well, according to all human calculations he ought to have been dead and buried a number of weeks ago, but another brief spell of life had been granted him, and if, through a tragic misfortune which no one could have foreseen, it had come prematurely to a close, why, there was no help for it. All that was now left him to do was to wrap his toga about him and await the end with silent stoicism.

Although he took the two remaining doses of the drug in due course, he made no attempt to rise from his bed after hearing of Dinkel\'s death. From that hour life, with its manifold interests, became to him as a dead letter. He had done with it, and it had done with him. They were quits.

So, day after day and night after night, he lay in the big four poster, silent for the most part, and often without opening his eyes for hours together; feeling his strength ebbing imperceptibly away, and, between his fitful snatches of sleep, thinking, ever thinking, for his mind remained as vigorous and lucid as ever it had been. What strange and awesome thoughts must oftentimes have been his as he lay there in grim resolute silence, waiting for his "order of release"!

His niece and Andry Luce took it in turns to watch by him. It was an easy task, there was so little that he wanted or that could be done for him. Miss Baynard had taken it on herself to send for Dr.s Banks and Mills, who responded to the summons in all haste.

The Squire opened his eyes and favored them with one of his sardonic smiles as they entered the room.

"Eh-eh! come to see the last of your handiwork?" he said, and already his voice had sunk to a half-whisper. "Very kind and attentive of you, I\'m sure. And besides, my case is such an interesting and uncommon one. It will be something for you to wrangle over as long as you live, and at the end you will know no more about it than you do now. Yes, yes, very kind and attentive of you; but as for your physic, I\'ll have no more on\'t--that\'s flat. Throw it to the dogs, as Shakespeare says. And now, \'I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.\'"

Of course they could do nothing, and to Miss Baynard they were candid enough to admit as much. It was a sad state of things.

And so the muffled hours stole after each other one by one till a week had gone by, by which time it became evident that the end was not far off.

No arrest had yet been made in connection with the murder of Cornelius D............