“I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Still, one never could tell. Take me to the Stone Room.
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