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the door in the midst of Mr. Conyngham’s speech, and found him expired upon the floor. His assailant must have escaped through the anteroom window.”
    Lord Kinsfell’s eyes were blazing as he conveyed this intelligence to the magistrate, but he swallowed painfully at its close; and I guessed him to labour under an excess of emotion all the more pitiable for its containment.
    Mr. Elliot’s gaze swept the length of the Knight’s figure. “Do I have the honour of addressing the Marquis of Kinsfell?”
    “You do, sir.”
    “Heir to the Duchy of Wilborough?”
    “I may claim that distinction.”
    “—and possessor of the knife that murdered Mr. Richard Portal?”
    A hesitation, and Lord Kinsfell bowed his head. “The knife has long been in our family’s possession, yes. It is a decorative blade from Bengal, bestowed upon my father by the directors of the East India Company.”
    The magistrate looked puzzled. “Might any person have come by it so readily as yourself, my lord?”
    “I must suppose so. The knife was generally displayed upon the mantel of this room.” Lord Kinsfell gestured to a small platform made of teak, ideal for the positioning of a decorative blade, now forlorn and bare above the fireplace.
    “Am I correct, my lord, in assuming that you pulled the blade from Mr. Portal’s breast?”
    A muffled cry broke from Maria Conyngham.
    “I did, sir,” Lord Kinsfell retorted, with a glance for the actress, “but I was not the agent of its descent into Mr. Portal’s heart.” He passed a trembling hand across his brow. “I was discovered in the attempt to aid or revive him only—and should better have pursued his murderer.”
    “Ah—his murderer.” Mr. Elliot turned his back upon the Marquis and paced towards the mantel, his eyes roving about the panelled walls to either side. “The fellow, you would have it, who dropped from the window. A man should require wings, my lord, to achieve such a distance from casement to paving-stone. But perhaps your murderer came disguised this e’en as a bird. Or an imp of Hell, intent upon the snatching of a soul. We may wonder to what region Mr. Portal has descended, may we not?”
    “Mr. Elliot!” Maria Conyngham cried. “Remember where you are, sir!”
    The magistrate bowed benignly and crossed to the anteroom window. A quick survey of the ground below, and he summoned a constable with a snap of the fingers.
    “You there, Shaw—to the chairmen, and be quick! You are to enquire whether any observed a flight from the sill of this window.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    “Mr. Elliot,” the Dowager broke in, “my footmen, Jenkins and Samuel, attempted to pursue the assailant some moments after his flight. But having little notion of the villain’s appearance or direction, alas, they could not find him.”
    “Naturally not. Their slippers,” Elliot rejoined with a critical air, “are hardly conducive to pursuit. Lord Kinsfell—”
    “Mr. Elliot?”
    “For what reason did you follow Mr. Portal into this room?”
    “I did not follow Portal anywhere,” the Marquis objected hotly. “I thought him already thrown out of the house.”
    “Indeed? And upon what pretext?”
    A brief silence; the exchange of looks. Lady Desdemona attempted an answer.
    “Mr. Portal had so far forgot himself, Mr. Elliot, as to behave with considerable impropriety before Her Grace’s guests. My brother thought it best that he be shown to the street before his actions became insupportable.”
    “That is a gross prevarication!” Hugh Conyngham burst out. “Had your brother not seen fit to challenge poor Portal to a duel, my lady, he might yet be alive!”
    “A duel?” Mr. Elliot enquired with interest. “And what could possibly have inspired a duel, pray?”
    Lord Kinsfell drew himself up to his full height—which was not inconsiderable. He was a very well-madeyoung man. “I am not at liberty to say, Mr. Elliot. It was a matter of some delicacy.”
    “An affair of honour,