but perhaps you will let the
butler--no, I think one of you, perhaps--will be good enough to send in
the first constable you see."

"I am going back," said the doctor. "I can do no more now, policeman.
I will send a man to you."

"Thankye, sir, if you will."

"Of course you will give notice to the coroner, and there will be a
post-mortem?"

"You leave that to me, sir; only send me one of our men."

They were stealing out on tiptoe, when Capel went back and drew the
heavy curtains right across the bed, to shut from the old warrior the
horrors that lay in the middle of the room. The constable, too, stepped
softly across to fasten the window. Then, following the others out, he
closed and locked the door, turning round directly, ducking down, and
involuntarily attempting to draw his truncheon, as he raised his left
arm to ward off a blow.

"Bah!" he ejaculated. "Why, it's a stature. Looked just as if it was
going to knock one down."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE TREASURE.

A week of horror and anxiety, during which the customary legal processes
had been gone through.

A jury had visited the Dark House and been conducted through the two
rooms, to go away disappointed at not seeing the inside of the great
iron safe. Then, after the evidence had been given, by the various
witnesses at the inquest, including that of the two doctors who had
performed the post-mortem examination, a verdict was returned which
charged Charles Pillar with wilful murder, and stated that the Indian
had committed justifiable homicide.

The doctors had differed, as it is proverbially said that they will, Dr
Heston, the young medical man, who had been called in first, telling the
jury that he was not satisfied that the blows given had caused the
death, and drawing attention to the peculiar odour he had noticed. But
the Coroner, an old medical man, sided with the colleague, who
pooh-poohed the idea, and the verdict was given.

The coroner was a good deal exercised in his mind whether some
proceedings ought not to have been taken in respect to the remains of
the late Colonel, but he obtained no legal support, and the terrible
murder and attempted robbery at Number 9A, Albemarle Square, with the
history of the embalming, and the mysterious inner chamber, were public
property for the usual nine days, when something fresh occurred, and the
interest died away.

Then, once more, there was the old peace in the Dark House, where the
remains