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bending over the moaning form of Mrs. Rogers.
    Adroitly Rogers slipped between the two women.
    “Allow me, Madam, I’ll speak to her. Ethel—Ethel—it’s all right. All right, do you hear? Pull yourself together.”
    Mrs. Rogers’ breath came in quick gasps. Her eyes, staring frightened eyes, went round and round the ring of faces. There was urgency in 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 judgment —”
    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. Someone 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 on 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 dryly:
    “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, showed 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 lifetime 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 whisky 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 reentered 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