Cayley looked at him in a bewildered way. Then he turned to the door
again. "We must break it in," he said, putting his shoulder to it. "Help
me."

"Isn't there a window?"

Cayley turned to him stupidly.

"Window? Window?"

"So much easier to break in a window," said Antony with a smile. He
looked very cool and collected, as he stood just inside the hall,
leaning on his stick, and thinking, no doubt, that a great deal of fuss
was being made about nothing. But then, he had not heard the shot.

"Window--of course! What an idiot I am."

He pushed past Antony, and began running out into the drive. Antony
followed him. They ran along the front of the house, down a path to the
left, and then to the left again over the grass, Cayley in front, the
other close behind him. Suddenly Cayley looked over his shoulder and
pulled up short.

"Here," he said.

They had come to the windows of the locked room, French windows which
opened on to the lawns at the back of the house. But now they were
closed. Antony couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement as he
followed Cayley's example, and put his face close up to the glass. For
the first time he wondered if there really had been a revolver shot in
this mysterious room. It had all seemed so absurd and melodramatic from
the other side of the door. But if there had been one shot, why should
there not be two more?--at the careless fools who were pressing their
noses against the panes, and asking for it.

"My God, can you see it?" said Cayley in a shaking voice. "Down there.
Look!"

The next moment Antony saw it. A man was lying on the floor at the far
end of the room, his back towards them. A man? Or the body of a man?

"Who is it?" said Antony.

"I don't know," the other whispered.

"Well, we'd better go and see." He considered the windows for a moment.
"I should think, if you put your weight into it, just where they join,
they'll give all right. Otherwise, we can kick the glass in."

Without saying anything, Cayley put his weight into it. The window gave,
and they went into the room. Cayley walked quickly to the body, and
dropped on his knees by it. For the moment he seemed to hesitate; then
with an effort he put a hand on to its shoulder and pulled it over.

"Thank God!" he murmured, and let the body go again.

"Who is it?" said Antony.

"Robert Ablett."

"Oh!" said Antony. "I thought his name was Mark," he added, more to
himself than to the other.

"Yes, Mark