said Mr Girtle, quickly.

"No, sir. The bed had not been slept in. His livery was on the chair
by it, and his cupboard was open where he keeps his private clothes."

"This is strange," said Mr Girtle. "Go on."

"Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he had let himself out through the area
gate, sir. He has done such things before, and at a time like this I
must speak plain."

"Yes. Let me have the truth. Go on."

"I was very angry, sir, and I meant to tell you, for it seemed
disgraceful at such a time."

"Go on."

"I will, sir," faltered the butler, "but you must not flurry me. I have
had a shock."

"Let him go on his own way, Mr Capel," said the old lawyer.

Preenham gave him a grateful look and continued:

"I thought I'd go and speak to Mr Ramo, and then I met Cook and Anne."

"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 wandere