The valet grinned to himself as he answered respectfully, "Yes, my lord. Very pleasant in the morning."

When he had half finished dressing, Heyton called to Miriam.

"I say, Miriam, what about a drive this morning? We might go over to
Teynsham."

"I don't know; I'll see," she called back listlessly.

"I'll wear a tweed suit," said Heyton to his man; "I'll have the new
one. And, look here, you tell the tailor to give me a little more room
round the waist. I suppose I must be getting fat, eh, Simcox?"

"Oh, not fat, my lord," murmured Simcox, remonstratingly.
"More--er--comfortable."

When the man had finished with him, Heyton lit a cigarette and leant
back in his chair--as if he were waiting for something.

He had not to wait long.

A cry rang through the house; it was followed by others; there was the
sound of rushing footsteps and voices raised in terror; his door was
flung open and Simcox stood on the threshold, his face white, his eyes
starting; he gaped at his master speechlessly, and Heyton gaped back at
him.

"Well, what the devil is it?" he asked at last, his face red, his lips
quivering. "What do you mean by rushing in, in this--idiotic fashion?"

"Oh, my lord!" gasped Simcox. "Something's--something's happened. Oh,
it's awful! It's the Marquess's man--Mr. Jenkins--he's just been to call
his lordship and--and--oh, my lord, it's 'orrible!"