lving stone; then he made an effort,
and the block turned. Roland saw daylight and leaped into the cistern.
The door into the orchard stood open. Roland passed through it, crossed
that portion of the orchard which lay between the cistern and the
corridor at the other end of which he had fired upon the phantom. He
passed along the corridor and entered the refectory. The refectory was
empty.

Again, as in the funereal passageway, Roland called three times. The
wondering echo, which seemed to have forgotten the tones of the human
voice, answered stammering. It was improbable that Sir John had come
this way; it was necessary to go back. Roland retraced his steps, and
found himself in the choir again. That was where Sir John had intended
to spend the night, and there some trace of him must be found.

Roland advanced only a short distance, and then a cry escaped him. A
large spot of blood lay at his feet, staining the pavement. On the other
side of the choir, a dozen feet from the blood, was another stain, not
less large, nor less red, nor less recent. It seemed to make a pendant
for the first.

One of these stains was to the right, the other to the left of that sort
of pedestal intended, as we have said, to support the eagle lectern--the
pedestal which Sir John had selected for his place of waiting. Roland
went up to it. It was drenched with blood! Evidently the drama had taken
place on that spot; a drama which, if all the signs were true, must have
been terrible.

Roland, in his double capacity of huntsman and soldier, was keen at
a quest. He could calculate the amount of blood lost by a man who was
dead, or by one who was only wounded. That night three men had fallen,
either dead or wounded. What were the probabilities?

The two stains in the choir to the right and left of the pedestal were
probably the blood of Sir John's two antagonists. That on the pedestal
was probably his own. Attacked on both sides, right and left, he had
fired with both hands, killing or wounding a man with each shot. Hence
these two bloodstains which reddened the pavement. He himself must have
been struck down beside the pedestal, on which his blood had spurted.

After a few seconds of examination, Roland was as sure of this as if he
had witnessed the struggle with his own eyes. Now, what had been done
with the bodies? He cared little enough about two of them; but he was
determined to know what had become of that of Sir John.

A track of bl