"Yes, sir?”

"Good morning. I am Police Sergeant Evans. Does a Mr. Leighton Duff live here?”

"Yes, sir, but he isn't home at the moment." She said it with some anxiety. It was not a piece of information she would normally have offered to a caller, even though she knew it to be true. She looked at his face, and perhaps read the weariness and sadness in it. "Is everything all right, sir?”

"No, I'm afraid it isn't. Is there a Mrs. Duff?”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filled with alarm, but she did not scream.

"You had better warn her lady's maid, and perhaps the butler. I am afraid I have very bad news.”

Silently she opened the door wider and let him in.

A butler with thin, greying hair came from the back of the hallway, frowning.

"Who is the gentleman, Janet?" He turned to Evan. "Good morning, sir.

May I be of assistance to you? I am afraid Mr. Duff is not at home at present, and Mrs. Duff is not receiving." He was less sensitive to Evan's expression than the maid had been.

"I am from the police," Evan repeated. "I have extremely bad news to tell Mrs. Duff. I'm very sorry. Perhaps you should remain in case she needs some assistance. Possibly you might send a messenger for your family doctor.”

"What… what has happened?" Now he looked thoroughly horrified.

"I am afraid that Mr. Leighton Duff and Mr. Rhys Duff have met with violence. Mr. Rhys is in St. Thomas's hospital in a very serious condition.”

The butler gulped. "And… and Mr… Mr. Leighton Duff?”

"I am afraid he is dead.”

"Oh dear… I…" He swayed a little where he stood in the magnificent hallway with its curved staircase, aspidistras in stone urns and brass umbrella stand with silver-topped canes in it.

"You'd better sit down a minute, Mr. Wharmby," Janet said with sympathy.