“What means this?” gasped Bob, pushing by the officers into his own old bed-room. “What means all this screaming when my father lies sick in bed?”
“It means murder, Bob,” said one of the men.
“What! murder?”
“Yes; and you did it,” said the other, “if I’m not much mistaken.”
“Me?”
“Aye you, Bob; look at your fine clothes stained with blood!”
And so they were. They had been wiped, but the stains were there upon them still.
“Oh! heavens! have mercy on me!” said Bob, turning white as a sheet, and fell into an arm chair, stricken to the heart with surprise and sorrow.
“We did not think you would do such a horrid thing as this is, Bob,” said the officers; “but we were warned of your threats, and your coming here to rob your father, and came to prevent it.”
“Me? Rob my father? Come here to murder? Warned of it beforehand?” gasped Bob, with staring eyes, “What means this? Is it all a terrible, horrible dream, or what?”