"

"Ah! sir, it's too true. He's quite dead."

"But surely he has died from natural causes--eh?"

"No, sir. My poor master has been foully murdered."

"How do you know that?" I asked breathlessly. "Tell me all the facts."

I saw by the man's agitation, his white face, and the hurried manner
in which he had evidently dressed to come in search of me, that
something tragic had really occurred.

"We know nothing yet, sir," was his quick response. "I entered his
room at two o'clock, as usual, to see if he wanted anything, and saw
that he was quite still, apparently asleep. The lamp was turned low,
but as I looked over the bed I saw a small dark patch upon the sheet.
This I discovered to be blood, and a moment later was horrified to
discover a small wound close to the heart, and from it the blood was
slowly oozing."

"Then he's been stabbed, you think?" I gasped, springing up and
beginning to dress myself hastily.

"We think so, sir. It's awful!"

"Terrible!" I said, utterly dumbfounded by the man's amazing story.
"After you made the discovery, how did you act?"

"I awoke the nurse, who slept in the room adjoining. And then we
aroused Miss Mivart. The shock to her was terrible, poor young lady.
When she saw the body of the old gentleman she burst into tears, and
at once sent me to you. I didn't find a cab till I'd walked almost to
Hammersmith, and then I came straight on here."

"But is there undoubtedly foul play, Short?"

"No doubt whatever, sir. I'm nothing of a doctor, but I could see the
wound plainly, like a small clean cut just under the heart."

"No weapon about?"

"I didn't see anything, sir."

"Have you called the police?"

"No, sir. Miss Mivart said she would wait until you arrived. She wants
your opinion."

"And Mrs. Courtenay. How does she bear the tragedy?"

"The poor lady doesn't know yet."

"Doesn't know? Haven't you told her?"

"No, sir. She's not at home."

"What? She hasn't returned?"

"No, sir," responded the man.

That fact was in itself peculiar. Yet there was, I felt sure, some
strong reason if young Mrs. Courtenay remained the night with her
friends, the Hennikers. Trains run to Kew after the theatres, but she
had possibly missed the last, and had been induced by her friends to
remain the night with them in town.

Yet the whole of the tragic affair was certainly very extraordinary.
It was Short's duty to rise at two o'clock each morning and go to his
master's room to as