"Set it down. Gentlemen, I've
got a theory about this here."

He turned on his bull's-eye again, as he spoke.

"A theory?" cried Capel, impatiently.

"Yes, sir. You see that crooked knife thing?"

"Yes."

"And the mark of the bloody hand on the counterpane, where it is
dragged?"

"Yes, we saw that."

"Well, has any one looked under the bed?"

"No."

"Then we shall find him there."

He stepped forward and raised the heavy valance, directing the light
beneath.

"There!" he exclaimed. "What did I say?"

CHAPTER TEN.

"WHY, DOCTOR, HE'S DEAD!"

In one moment the slow, heavy-looking constable changed, from a rustic,
loutish fellow, to a man full of intelligent observation, for, as he
raised the valance of the bed, there, indistinctly seen, was the body of
a man, either through fear or to escape observation.

With a quick motion of the hand, the constable opened the leather case
at his side, and drew his truncheon.

"Stand at the window, sir," he said to Capel. "You, sir, keep the door.
Now, then," he cried, as soon as he had been obeyed, and in a sharp,
authoritative voice. "The game's up. Out you came."

Capel set his teeth hard, for all this was horrible in that chamber of
death.

"Do you hear?" cried the constable, sharply, for there was neither word
nor movement from beneath the bed. "Oh, very well," he continued, "only
I warn you I stand no nonsense." And the occupants of the room prepared
for a struggle, with beating hearts.

The constable stepped back to them, and from behind his hand, said,
softly:

"Be ready, perhaps there's two."

He stepped back and stooped with his staff ready for a blow.

"Now, then," he cried; "is it surrender?"

There was no answer, and, he thrust his hand beneath the bed, seized the
man's leg, and dragged him out into the room, but only to loose his hold
and start away.

"Why, doctor!" he cried, "he's dead."

The doctor caught up a candlestick and dropped on one knee beside the
fresh horror, while the light from the bull's-eye was again brought to
bear, and mingled with the wan, yellow rays that struggled in through
the panes.

"Good God, gentlemen!" gasped the butler, "it's Charles."

The horribly distorted features were, indeed, those of the footman, and
the mystery of the death-chamber began to grow lighter, for it was
evident that for some reason he had entered the room in the night. For
no good mission, certainly, a short whalebone-ha