“Good God!” muttered Mr. Priestley distractedly. “What on earth had we better do?”
The girl gave him no help. “It’s murder,” she said shortly.
“But—but—good God, I never meant to kill him! It isn’t murder. I thought the revolver was loaded with blank ammunition, as you said.”
“So did I!” said the girl helplessly. “I’m sure I told my maid to load it with blank. But you wouldn’t believe how careless that girl is. I knew she’d be getting me into trouble one of these days.”
The corpse’s face twitched spasmodically, but Mr. Priestley was fortunately still engaged in staring at the cause of all his trouble.
“And it won’t help you in the least to say you thought it wasn’t loaded,” that lady told him frankly. “They’ll know we came here after those miniatures. You’re known to the police, I suppose; and of course I am. It’s not much good saying we shot him by mistake; it’s murder they’ll try us for. If we’re caught, it’s a hanging job for both of us.”
“There’s no need,” said Mr. Priestley slowly, “for you to appear in it at all. After all, it was I who shot him; nobody’s going to know there were two of us. We’d better separate, and you can——”
“’Ullo!” said a gruff voice from the open window—a really gruff voice this time. “What’s all this about, eh?”
Both of them started to their feet. Just inside the room was a burly policeman, flashing a quite unnecessary lantern. They stared at him aghast as he advanced upon them.
“’Eard a scream comin’ from ’ere, not above two minutes back,” went on the policeman sternly, “an’ then a shot. Or sounded like a shot, it did. So I thought as ’ow——” He caught sight of the corpse on the floor, which had hitherto been partially hidden by an arm-chair, and broke off abruptly. His bulging eyes contemplated it with incredulity.