was staring at Bryce and the
blood-stain on his shirt as if what she saw was too monstrous for
belief.

"Moira Drummond," I said, in a hard, cold, emotionless voice that I
hardly recognised as mine, "put down that thing instantly."

She turned her head at my words and regarded me dazedly for just the
fraction of a second. Then in an instant the revolver dropped from her
nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor, she swayed like a
willow-wand in the wind, and would have fallen had I not sprung to catch
her. She went limp in my arms. I did not need a second glance to tell me
that Bryce was dead, and that no one in this world could do anything for
him now. So, recognising that my first duty was to the living, I turned
my attention to Moira. She had merely fainted, and one or two simple
remedies brought her round very quickly. She opened her golden-brown
eyes and looked up into mine. The unaccustomed horror of what she had
just gone through had not yet died out of them; they held a plaintive,
pleading look that somehow went straight to my heart.

"I didn't do it," she quavered.

"Who said you did?" I asked.

"The way you looked and spoke to me, Jim----"

I stopped her with a gesture. "That's all right," I said consolingly. "I
wouldn't have thought so for a moment. But tell me just what happened."

"That's more than I can," she said. "I was standing by him, talking, and
suddenly I heard the window glass smash and something went 'pop.' And
the next I knew uncle gave a little cry and his head fell forward on his
chest. The blood was welling up out of his wound, and I saw that he was
killed. His revolver was on the table, so I seized it and fired at the
window. I don't know whether I hit whoever fired, but I hope I did," she
concluded, with the faintest touch of forgivable viciousness in her
voice.

It was only when she drew my attention to it that I remembered having
heard the glass break. The window had a great big star in the centre of
it with a myriad little cracks radiating from it like the spokes of a
wheel.

Moira looked first at the window, then at the still figure sitting in
the chair. Finally she turned to me.

"Jim, what are we to do?" she asked helplessly.

"Well," I answered, seeing now that everything fell upon me, "we'll have
to get hold of a doctor. It's just for form's sake, you understand. He
won't be able to do anything. Then we'll have to ring up the police.
It's a blessing we've got the 'p