slice. At last, to the astonishment and dismay of the company, he rose to his feet, overturning a glass of claret in his agitation. Heedless of the spreading crimson stain, he croaked in a tone more raucous than the cawing of the rooks on the battlements, “Enough of this heedless frivolity. A dastardly crime has been committed here tonight and I, Silas Whipsnade, can no longer stifle the stern voice of conscience that cries aloud for redress. The name of the evildoer is—”
He got not farther. With a wild cry of “Arrgh!” Silas Whipsnade clutched at his throat and fell forward into a serving of riz à l’emperatrice.
Count Bratvuschenko glanced up from his own plate. “One of zoze untraceable Asiatic poizonz. It happen all ze time at zese diplomatic dinnerz.” He went on eating his dinner. Lady Ditherby-Stoat rang for another footman. Ermentine addressed her father.
“Papa, we shall have to call the police, shall we not?”
“My dear, how can that be?” her father answered. “Have you no apprehension of the dread consequences that would ensue should it become generally known that the plans of the Beaird-Wynnington Dirigible Airship have been stolen? But lest you deem me to have been culpably negligent, I must reveal to you that the late Silas Whipsnade was in fact the noted detective Augustus Fox, whom I myself engaged to guard the plans. The gallant fellow appears to have been on the verge of unmasking the malefactor when he was so foully done to death by some as yet undiscovered agency. Let us only remember that, however uncouth his methods of procedure, the alleged Silas Whipsnade gave his life in the service of his country. Take him away, Frederick, and fetch the port.”
Lady Ditherby-Stoat gathered the eyes of the female members of the party and led them away from the dining room, leaving the men to find what solace they might within the depths of the cut-glass decanters. Circumstances being as they were, it was perhaps not surprising that they did not sit long over their port. Hardly an hour later, Lord Ditherby-Stoat, A. Lysander Hellespont, and young Gerald Potherton entered the drawing room.
“But where eez ze Count Bratvuschenko?” demanded Mme. Vigée-Lenoir.
“M’yes,” said Lord Ditherby-Stoat thoughtfully. “That is a penetrating observation of yours, Mme. Vigée-Lenoir. It seems to me Count Bratvuschenko has been absent from our gathering for sometime. Hellespont, have you noticed him lately?”
“Not I,” disclaimed of the suave man-about-town. “Potherton?”
The junior member of the group answered only by a shake of the head and a barely suppressed hiccough.
“But zees ees terreeble,” exclaimed the Frenchwoman. “All ze men deesappear.”
“It is a pity,” Mrs. Swiveltree agreed with an ironic glance at Mme. Vigée-Lenoir’s exuberant décolletage. “Why should it not have been one of the women?”
Lady Ditherby-Stoat touched the bell for a footman. “James, go and see whether Count Bratvuschenko has retired. He may have become indisposed, being unused to British cooking.”
“Considering how much of it he ate,” Ermentine observed sotto voce, “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Gerald responded by another hiccough and a shake of the head. “He was in fine fettle over the port. Dearest, I fear there may have been yet more foul play. Might you not drop a hint to your father about calling in another private detective?”
“Better still,” cried Ermentine, “let us turn detectives ourselves. Come, a-sleuthing we shall go!”
Potherton held out a restraining hand. “Wait a moment, the footman is returning. Perhaps he has news of the count.”
Much the same thought must have crossed Lord Ditherby-Stoat’s mind, for he inquired, “Well, James, do you bring news of the count?”
“Yes and no, my lord, in a manner of speaking,” the servant replied in a tone of utter befuddlement. “What I mean to say, my lord, is that some of him’s there and the rest of
He got not farther. With a wild cry of “Arrgh!” Silas Whipsnade clutched at his throat and fell forward into a serving of riz à l’emperatrice.
Count Bratvuschenko glanced up from his own plate. “One of zoze untraceable Asiatic poizonz. It happen all ze time at zese diplomatic dinnerz.” He went on eating his dinner. Lady Ditherby-Stoat rang for another footman. Ermentine addressed her father.
“Papa, we shall have to call the police, shall we not?”
“My dear, how can that be?” her father answered. “Have you no apprehension of the dread consequences that would ensue should it become generally known that the plans of the Beaird-Wynnington Dirigible Airship have been stolen? But lest you deem me to have been culpably negligent, I must reveal to you that the late Silas Whipsnade was in fact the noted detective Augustus Fox, whom I myself engaged to guard the plans. The gallant fellow appears to have been on the verge of unmasking the malefactor when he was so foully done to death by some as yet undiscovered agency. Let us only remember that, however uncouth his methods of procedure, the alleged Silas Whipsnade gave his life in the service of his country. Take him away, Frederick, and fetch the port.”
Lady Ditherby-Stoat gathered the eyes of the female members of the party and led them away from the dining room, leaving the men to find what solace they might within the depths of the cut-glass decanters. Circumstances being as they were, it was perhaps not surprising that they did not sit long over their port. Hardly an hour later, Lord Ditherby-Stoat, A. Lysander Hellespont, and young Gerald Potherton entered the drawing room.
“But where eez ze Count Bratvuschenko?” demanded Mme. Vigée-Lenoir.
“M’yes,” said Lord Ditherby-Stoat thoughtfully. “That is a penetrating observation of yours, Mme. Vigée-Lenoir. It seems to me Count Bratvuschenko has been absent from our gathering for sometime. Hellespont, have you noticed him lately?”
“Not I,” disclaimed of the suave man-about-town. “Potherton?”
The junior member of the group answered only by a shake of the head and a barely suppressed hiccough.
“But zees ees terreeble,” exclaimed the Frenchwoman. “All ze men deesappear.”
“It is a pity,” Mrs. Swiveltree agreed with an ironic glance at Mme. Vigée-Lenoir’s exuberant décolletage. “Why should it not have been one of the women?”
Lady Ditherby-Stoat touched the bell for a footman. “James, go and see whether Count Bratvuschenko has retired. He may have become indisposed, being unused to British cooking.”
“Considering how much of it he ate,” Ermentine observed sotto voce, “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Gerald responded by another hiccough and a shake of the head. “He was in fine fettle over the port. Dearest, I fear there may have been yet more foul play. Might you not drop a hint to your father about calling in another private detective?”
“Better still,” cried Ermentine, “let us turn detectives ourselves. Come, a-sleuthing we shall go!”
Potherton held out a restraining hand. “Wait a moment, the footman is returning. Perhaps he has news of the count.”
Much the same thought must have crossed Lord Ditherby-Stoat’s mind, for he inquired, “Well, James, do you bring news of the count?”
“Yes and no, my lord, in a manner of speaking,” the servant replied in a tone of utter befuddlement. “What I mean to say, my lord, is that some of him’s there and the rest of
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