A few words of commonplace greeting were exchanged; Mr. Jacobs expressed
his sympathy in a low voice, devoid of any acuteness, and Heyton drew a
breath of relief, as he led the way into the library; to him it seemed
that the man from Scotland Yard looked rather stupid than otherwise. Mr.
Jacobs took a seat, and Heyton, of his own accord, repeated, almost word
for word, the account he had given to the Inspector.

"It's my opinion," he wound up, "that you'll find the man amongst those
blackguard gipsies."

"Yes, my lord?" responded the detective, interrogatively. Then he went
upstairs to the dressing-room. "I think I should like to be alone in
here, my lord, if you don't mind," he said.

He took the key from the Inspector, and went in, closing the door after
him. When he came out, his round, innocent-looking face was grave, but
revealed nothing.

"Has the Marquess recovered consciousness?" he asked.

"Not yet, I am sorry to say," replied Heyton. "They are keeping the room
very quiet, and my wife will tell me the moment my father comes to."

"I should like to know, when he does so, my lord," said the detective.
"Is there anyone else with him--I mean, beside the doctor and the
nurse?"

"Mrs. Dexter, the housekeeper, and a young lady, Miss Grant, a kind of
secretary and librarian."