Dorcas came running out to meet us. She was crying and wringing her hands. I was aware of other servants huddled together in the background, all eyes and ears.

“Oh, m’am! Oh, m’am! I don’t know how to tell you⁠—”

“What is it, Dorcas?” I asked impatiently. “Tell us at once.”

“It’s those wicked detectives. They’ve arrested him⁠—they’ve arrested Mr. Cavendish!”

“Arrested Lawrence?” I gasped.

I saw a strange look come into Dorcas’s eyes.

“No, sir. Not Mr. Lawrence⁠— Mr. John.”