"We were on the mat, Mr Preenham," said a husky voice from below.

"Yes, Mrs Thompson, quite right, and they went on to the kitchen while I went up into the hall, and undid the bolts of the front hall door, and let down the chain."

"Yes--exactly."

"Then I went up, sir, to see if Mr Ramo was at master's door."

"Yes; go on," said Capel, excitedly.

"And when I came to the door, sir, I found it was ajar, and though I listened, I could not hear a sound. So I pushed the door against the big curtain, and called softly, 'Ramo! Mr Ramo!' but there was no answer, and then I felt a bit alarmed, and, after waiting a moment, I went down and got a light."

"Well?"

"I called again, sir, twice; and then, pushing open the door, a puff of wind nearly blew out the light."

"Wind?" cried Mr Girtle; and he took a step towards the door.

"Stop a minute, sir, please," said the butler appealingly. "I went in quickly, and the first thing I saw was the curtain dragged aside and the window open."

"Yes--go on," cried Mr Girtle, for the butler was trembling so that he could hardly speak.

"And the next, sir--I nearly fell over him--there was poor Mr Ramo-- lying--in--a pool of blood."

"Oh!"

The cry came from Lydia as she tottered and clung to Katrine, calm amidst the horrors of the recital.

"I put the candle on the floor, sir, and went down on my knee beside him," cried the butler, growing more and more agitated. "Look," he said, piteously, pointing to his trousers and his hands. "I touched him, sir, but he was dead, sir, dead, and I came up then and alarmed the house."

Artis looked at the butler narrowly, as his eyes wandered from one to the other.

"Have you been in since, Preenham?"

"No, sir. I went and got the candles, and lit all I could."

Capel was about to rush into the room, but he stopped on the threshold.

"Miss D'Enghien--Miss Lawrence--this is no place for you. Pray go back to your rooms."

"Yes," said Katrine, slowly, "Mr Capel is right. Come, dear, with me."

She pa.s.sed her arm round Lydia, and the two seemed to fade away into the darkness, as Capel, Mr Girtle, Artis, and, lastly, the butler went into the room.

CHAPTER NINE.

ANOTHER DISCOVERY.

It was precisely as the butler had said. There was the window open--a window looking out on to some leads. And beyond them the low houses of a mews which ran at the back. There, at a short distance from the bed, was the Colonel's faithful servant, in a pool of blood, with a kukri-- one of those ugly curved Indian knives--clasped tightly in his hand.

"Dead!" said Mr Girtle; and then, rising quickly, he ran to the further portal, drew back the curtain, and found the iron door closed.

"There has been a terrible struggle here," said Capel. "Look."

He pointed to where, plainly seen on the white counterpane that half covered the heavy valance, there was the mark of a b.l.o.o.d.y hand that had caught the quilt and dragged it a little down.

"Yes," said Mr Girtle, looking about at overturned chairs, a small table driven out of its place, and a carriage clock swept off and lying on the floor. "Yes, there has been a terrible struggle."

He looked at the dead man, and then in the direction of the strong chamber.

Artis saw, and said maliciously:

"Murder must mean robbery."

"Impossible!" said the lawyer. "The door is shut. Stop. Let me see,"

and stooping, he thrust his hand inside the silken robe the old Indian wore.

There was a dead silence as he searched hastily, and then drew out the keys and chain.

"All safe," he cried; "see, here are the keys. They slip off and on this spring swivel; the old man always wore them there. The key of that door; the key of the iron chamber; the key of the steel chest.

Gentlemen, I shall remove the keys. Mr Capel, they are yours, now.

Take them."

"No," said Capel quietly. "Keep them, sir. Now, what do you make of this? It seems to me that the murderer must have come in by this door, and encountered Ramo, and, after the terrible struggle, have escaped by the window."

"Exactly," said Mr Girtle.

"Unless," said Artis, "some one killed this black fellow when trying to rob his master."

"Absurd!" cried Capel angrily, as he bent down over the dead man. "Look here," he cried, "whoever it was must have been wounded. This knife is covered with blood."

"His own, perhaps," said Artis.

"May be so, but I think not. Now, Mr Girtle, what next?"

"The police," said the old lawyer huskily. "Preenham, fetch me a little brandy; this terrible scene has made me faint."

"Go, sir? Leave you here?"

"Yes, go at once," said Mr Girtle, and there seemed to be an unwillingness to leave, as the butler went out and closed the door.

"You did not want that brandy," said Artis quickly. "You wanted to get rid of him for a few minutes. I know what you are thinking--that it was that scoundrelly-faced footman."

"Yes, you have guessed my thoughts."

"And you suspect the butler?"