"No, sir; here's his hat and stick."

Artis stopped, thinking, and then bounded up the stairs again to the
Colonel's door.

"I thought so," he said. "There's something wrong here. Look." He
pointed to several holes through the mahogany door, the mark of a saw
scoring the panels, and the reddish dust on the lion-skin mat. "Is any
one here?" he cried, knocking. "I say! Is any one here? Pah! Look at
that!"

He uttered a cry, almost like a woman, as he pointed to a place where
the lion-skin rug did not reach, and there, dimly seen by the gloomy
light thrown by the stained-glass window, was a little thread of blood
that had run beneath the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

DOCTOR AND NURSE.

The old lawyer ran from the door with an alacrity not to be expected in
one of his years, and returned directly with the key that he had found
in his table.

"Give it to me," said Artis huskily, and snatching the key he tried to
insert it, but his hand trembled so that he did not succeed, and the
next moment he shrank away.

"Here, open that door, Preenham," he said.

"I daren't, sir, I daren't indeed. Ah, poor young man!"

"Give me the key," said the old lawyer firmly, and taking it, he tried
the door, to find that the lock had been tampered with, so that it was
some minutes before he could get it to move.

"Hadn't I better fetch the police, sir?" faltered the butler.

"No; stop," said the old lawyer, turning the handle. "There is some one
against the door."

He pushed hard, and with some effort got it open so that he could have
squeezed in.

"It is all dark," he said. "No it is the curtain," and forcing his way
through, he drew back the hangings from the window.

"It's poor Capel--dead!" whispered Artis, who had followed. "Here,
Preenham, come in," he cried angrily. "Oh, how horrible--poor lad!"

The lawyer saw the naked sword lying on the carpet; that the drawers and
cabinet had been ransacked; and that the window was not quite shut down.

He took this in at a glance as he ran to where Capel lay close to the
door, where he had dragged himself sometime during the early hours of
the morn, to lie exhausted after vainly trying to raise the alarm.

"He's dead, sir, dead!" groaned the butler.

"Hush!" cried the old lawyer harshly. "He's not dead. Mr Artis, you
are young and active. Quick. That doctor, Mr Heston. You know where
he lives. You, Preenham, brandy. Stop. Tell the ladies Mr Capel is
i