What she saw was eloquent; its condition so plainly showed what a scene of violence it had witnessed. She pressed her hand again to her side. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. He saw something of what she was enduring.

"You can do nothing. You are in pain. Let me take you to your room."

She shook her head. Then words came; she spoke as if her throat had all at once grown dry and husky.

"How did it happen?"

"He was killed with this."

He picked up from the floor what looked like a lacquered Oriental club; there was something gleaming on the end of it.

"Could it have been that I heard?"

"Who can say?"

"Was he like that when you came in?"

"He was lying a little more over on his face; I turned him over to see if there were any signs of life left in him."

"You are sure--that no one else--was in the room?"

For some reason there was a perceptible interval before he answered; they looked at each other, as if each were reading something which was in the other's eyes; then his glance dropped, and he said:

"There was no one else in the room when I came in."

Somehow she felt that his words conveyed much more than was on the surface; neither spoke; it was as if each were occupied with thoughts which would not be denied.

All at once the stillness was broken in a manner which was sufficiently startling; what sounded like the report of a firearm rang through the silent room. The major sprang to his feet. Her face was turned in the direction from which the sound had come.

"What was that?" she asked.

"That was a revolver--someone fired a revolver."

"Where?"

"I should say in the next room; it was certainly very close."

 Prev. P 76/211 next