that there was no one
at home. A policeman ordered him to open the door at once, so that Mr.
Hanbury's dead body might be brought in.

"But Mr. Hanbury is at home, you can't possibly have his dead body
there!"

"Tell Mr. Hanbury right away!" interrupted the policeman. "It's young
Mr. Hanbury, and he's been murdered. Open the door, do you hear!"

Silently the heavy bronze door turned on its hinges and, with the
policeman in the lead, the men were ushered into the high marble
entrance-hall of the Hanbury palace. They carried the stretcher on which
lay the murdered body of the son of the house up the broad staircase,
the thick carpets deadening the sound of their steps. At the top of the
stairs they lowered their burden and waited in silence. Doors opened and
shut in the distance; from one of them a bright stream of light fell on
the shining onyx pillars and on the gilt frames of the paintings, which
in the light from strange swinging lamps looked like huge black patches.
Then the light from the door disappeared, a bell rang somewhere and
figures hurried to and fro. A fantastically dressed East Indian next
appeared and made signs to the ambulance-men to carry the stretcher into
a room which, in its fabulous, Oriental splendor represented one of the
most beautiful of the Indian mosques. The men carried their burden
carefully into the middle of the room and then set it down and looked at
one another in embarrassment. The policeman assumed a dignified posture
and cleared his throat. Suddenly the heavy gold-embroidered curtain
before one of the doors was pushed aside by a brown hand and fell back
in heavy folds; an old white-haired man stood for a moment in the
doorway and then advanced towards the officer with a firm step.

The latter cleared his throat again and then began in a dry and
business-like tone to give his report of Gerald Hanbury's murder,
ending with the words "--and these gentlemen picked him up and brought
him here."

"I thank you, gentlemen," said the old man, and taking out his
pocket-book he handed each of them, including Robertson, a twenty-dollar
bill. Then he sat down wearily on the edge of the stretcher and rested
his head in his hands. He seemed to be oblivious of his surroundings.
The men stood round for a few moments not knowing what to do, until
finally the policeman led the ambulance-men and Robertson to the door,
which opened automatically.

As the Indian closed the door behind them the off