Ablett lives here. Robert is his brother." He shuddered, and
said, "I was afraid it was Mark."

"Was Mark in the room too?"

"Yes," said Cayley absently. Then, as if resenting suddenly these
questions from a stranger, "Who are you?"

But Antony had gone to the locked door, and was turning the handle. "I
suppose he put the key in his pocket," he said, as he came back to the
body again.

"Who?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders.

"Whoever did this," he said, pointing to the man on the floor. "Is he
dead?"

"Help me," said Cayley simply.

They turned the body on to its back, nerving themselves to look at it.
Robert Ablett had been shot between the eyes. It was not a pleasant
sight, and with his horror Antony felt a sudden pity for the man beside
him, and a sudden remorse for the careless, easy way in which he had
treated the affair. But then one always went about imagining that
these things didn't happen--except to other people. It was difficult to
believe in them just at first, when they happened to yourself.

"Did you know him well?" said Antony quietly. He meant, "Were you fond
of him?"

"Hardly at all. Mark is my cousin. I mean, Mark is the brother I know
best."

"Your cousin?"

"Yes." He hesitated, and then said, "Is he dead? I suppose he is. Will
you--do you know anything about--about that sort of thing? Perhaps I'd
better get some water."

There was another door opposite to the locked one, which led, as Antony
was to discover for himself directly, into a passage from which opened
two more rooms. Cayley stepped into the passage, and opened the door on
the right. The door from the office, through which he had gone, remained
open. The door, at the end of the short passage was shut. Antony,
kneeling by the body, followed Cayley with his eyes, and, after he had
disappeared, kept his eyes on the blank wall of the passage, but he was
not conscious of that at which he was looking, for his mind was with the
other man, sympathizing with him.

"Not that water is any use to a dead body," he said to himself, "but the
feeling that you're doing something, when there's obviously nothing to
be done, is a great comfort."

Cayley came into the room again. He had a sponge in one hand, a
handkerchief in the other. He looked at Antony. Antony nodded. Cayley
murmured something, and knelt down to bathe the dead man's face. Then he
placed the handkerchief over it. A little sigh escaped Antony, a sigh of
relief.

They s