He started to move towards the adjoining apartment. She stopped him.

"Where are you going?" He turned to her.

"I'm going to see who fired that shot."

"Let me come with you; don't leave me here--with him. If you let me lean upon your arm, I can get along quite well."

He stood eyeing her, as if in doubt what was the right thing for him to do. His tone was stern, perhaps unconsciously so.

"You know you ought not to be here; this is no place for you--you ought to be in bed."

"I know, but what's the use of talking like that? You're not going to leave me here--alone? You shall take me with you. Give me your arm; I don't believe I can move without it, or I would; give me your arm."

He did as she asked, crossing the open space in which Mr. Noel Draycott lay to do it. Not only did he give her his arm, he put it round her, so that she was supported rather by his shoulder. Together they made what haste they could.

This was a suite of rooms opening one into the other; they passed into the next. It was in darkness.

"I fancy the switches are against the wall by the door here."

The surmise was correct, he switched the light on. When he had done so, they were conscious of two things; one was an open window, the other was the smell of powder.

"It was in here that the shot was fired."

"But by whom? The room is empty; who fired it? And why?"

"Whoever fired it may have gone through the open window. Sit down on that chair; I must look into this."

He withdrew the support of his arm, but she did not sit down on the chair, she leaned on the back of it; perhaps she feared that if she sat she would not be able to rise unaided. He advanced towards the open window, then gave an exclamation, stooping as he did so.

"Here, at least, is the revolver." He held up the weapon for her to see, and examined it. "One of the chambers has been discharged, that was the shot we heard; the others are still loaded."

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