"I didn't see. I am just going to ask for particulars. Will you stay
with Mrs. Weatherley?"

Starling looked searchingly along the vestibule. The news seemed to
have affected him strangely. His head was thrown a little back, his
nostrils distended. He reminded Arnold for a moment of a watch-dog,
listening.

"Of course," he muttered, "of course. Come back as soon as you can
and let us know what has happened."

Arnold made his way through the reception hall and across the
courtyard. Already the crowd of people was melting away. A policeman
stood on guard at the opposite door, and two more at the entrance of
the café. The whole of the vestibule where the affair had happened
was closed, and the only information which it was possible to
collect Arnold gathered from the excited conversations of the little
knots of people standing around. In a few minutes he returned to the
small reception room. Fenella and Starling looked eagerly up as he
entered. They both showed signs of an intense emotion. Starling was
even gripping the back of a chair as he spoke.

"What of Rosario?" he demanded.

Arnold hesitated, but only for a moment. The truth, perhaps, was
best.

"Rosario is dead," he replied gravely. "He was stabbed to the heart
and died within a few seconds."