Murray stood by, dirk in hand, ready to make a chop at any reptile which
might appear, while Tom drew himself up into the shadowy loft, and after
a good look round lowered himself down again with a sigh of relief.

"No Mr Allen's up there, sir," he said.

"Then where can he be?" cried the middy excitedly, and he ran back
across the hall and into the study, to pass his hand over the couch,
which still felt slightly warm.

"P'raps he's gone into the gunroom, sir," said Tom respectfully.

"What, the hall where the guns and things are?"

"Nay, nay, sir; I meant the eating quarters--the dinin'-room, as you
call it."

Murray ran back across the hall to see at a glance that no one was
beyond, and he turned upon his follower again.

"Tom," he exclaimed angrily, "what do you make of this?"

The man shook his head.

"But he can't have come out of the study while we were looking out at
the back."

"That's so, sir," said the man, shaking his head the while. "It's quite
onpossible, sir, but he did."

"Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated Murray quickly. "We must visit all the
posts and see if any one saw him pass."

"They couldn't, sir, 'cause if they had they'd have challenged and
stopped him."

"Of course they would," cried the lad excitedly. "Here, let's have
another look round the study. He must be there."

"That's just what I'm a-thinking, sir," cried the man solemnly.

"Then where is he? Don't stand staring at me like a figure-head!
Haven't you anything to say?"

"No, sir; only you 'member how all-overish I come, sir."

"Yes, when you declared it was as if there was a dead man in the place."

"Yes, sir; I knowed there was something wrong."

"Well, then, stupid," cried the lad, in a passion, "there's no live man
here."

"No, sir," said Tom, shaking his head.

"Well, then," cried Murray, passionately, striking his open palm with
the blue and gold inlaid blade of his dirk, "where's your dead man?"

"Can't say, sir," replied the man, speaking very slowly. "Seems to me
it's a mystery."

"A mystery?" cried the middy, looking round at the pictures and other
decorations of the place and addressing them as if they were sentient,
listening creatures. "Here's a big six-foot strongly-built British
sailor talking to his officer like an old charwoman about mysteries!
You, Tom May, if ever you dare to talk such nonsense to me again, I'll
punch your silly head."

"Beg pardon, your honour," said the man coolly, "but