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Rogers' tone.
    “Pull yourself together, Ethel.”
    Dr. Armstrong spoke to her soothingly.
    “You'll be all right now, Mrs. Rogers. Just a nasty turn.”
    She said:
    “Did I faint, sir?”
    “Yes.”
    “It was The Voice - that awful voice - like a judgement -”
    Her face turned green again, her eyelids fluttered.
    Dr. Armstrong said sharply:
    “Where's that brandy?”
    Rogers had put it down on a little table. Some one handed it to the doctor and he bent over the gasping woman with it.
    “Drink this, Mrs. Rogers.”
    She drank, choking a little and gasping. The spirit did her good. The colour returned to her face. She said:
    “I'm all right now. It just - gave me a turn.”
    Rogers said quickly:
    “Of course it did. It gave me a turn too. Fair made me drop that tray. Wicked lies, it was! I'd like to know -”
    He was interrupted. It was only a cough - a dry little cough but it had the effect of stopping him in full cry. He stared at Mr. Justice Wargrave and the latter coughed again. Then he said:
    “Who put that record on the gramophone? Was it you, Rogers?”
    Rogers cried:
    “I didn't know what it was. Before God, I didn't know what it was, sir. If I had I'd never have done it.”
    The judge said drily:
    “That is probably true. But I think you'd better explain, Rogers.”
    The butler wiped his face with a handkerchief. He said earnestly:
    “I was just obeying orders, sir, that's all.”
    “Whose orders?”
    “Mr. Owen's.”
    Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
    “Let me get this quite clear. Mr. Owen's orders were - what exactly?”
    Rogers said:
    “I was to put a record on the gramophone. I'd find the record in the drawer and my wife was to start the gramophone when I'd gone into the drawing-room with the coffee tray.”
    The judge murmured:
    “A very remarkable story.”
    Rogers cried:
    “It's the truth, sir. I swear to God it's the truth. I didn't know what it was - not for a moment. It had a name on it - I thought it was just a piece of music.”
    Wargrave looked at Lombard.
    “Was there a title on it?”
    Lombard nodded. He grinned suddenly, showing his white pointed teeth.
    He said:
    “Quite right, sir. It was entitled Swan Song...”
    III
    General Macarthur broke out suddenly. He exclaimed:
    “The whole thing is preposterous - preposterous! Slinging accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. This fellow Owen whoever he is -”
    Emily Brent interrupted. She said sharply:
    “That's just it, who is he?”
    The judge interposed. He spoke with the authority that a life-time in the courts had given him. He said:
    “That is exactly what we must go into very carefully. I should suggest that you get your wife to bed first of all, Rogers. Then come back here.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Dr. Armstrong said:
    “I'll give you a hand, Rogers.”
    Leaning on the two men, Mrs. Rogers tottered out of the room. When they had gone Tony Marston said:
    “Don't know about you, sir, but I could do with a drink.”
    Lombard said:
    “I agree.”
    Tony said:
    “I'll go and forage.”
    He went out of the room.
    He returned a second or two later.
    “Found them all waiting on a tray outside ready to be brought in.”
    He set down his burden carefully. The next minute or two was spent in dispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whiskey and so did the judge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water.
    Dr. Armstrong re-entered the room.
    “She's all right,” he said. “I've given her a sedative to take. What's that, a drink? I could do with one.”
    Several of the men refilled their glasses. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room.
    Mr. Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings. The room became an impromptu court of law.
    The judge said:
    “Now then, Rogers, we must get to the bottom of this. Who is this Mr. Owen?”
    Rogers stared.
    “He owns this place, sir.”
    “I am aware of that fact. What I want you to tell me is what you