"Ugh!" exclaimed a guttural voice behind them.
It was the servant who had come in. Even his ordinarily impassive Oriental face could not conceal the horror and fear at the sight of his master lying on the floor in a pool of gore. Elaine was now more frightened than ever, if that were possible.
"You—kill him—with knife?" insinuated the Chinese.
Elaine was dumb. The servant did not wait for an answer, but hastily opened the hall door.
To Elaine it seemed that something must be done quickly. A moment and all the house would be in uproar.
Instead, he placed his finger on his lips. "Quick—no word," he said, leading the way to the hall door, "and—you must not leave that—it will be a clue," he added, picking up the bloody handkerchief and pressing it into Elaine's hand.
They quickly ran out into the hall.
"Go—quick!" he urged again, "and hide the handkerchief in the bag. Let no one see it!"
He shut the door. As they hurried away, Elaine breathed a sigh of relief.
"Why did he let us go, though?" she whispered, her head in a whirl.