And if I never forget that night, I shall never forget the memory that followed it!
For I was awakened by a piercing scream that echoed and reëchoed through the house. It came from the floor below!
“Murder! Murder! Help! Help! Murder!”
CHAPTER II
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM
It was a woman screaming! Not that I’m in the position of having frequently heard men scream. But the feminine note in the voice was apparent to the most careless listener.
I hastily threw on a blazer, pulled on a pair of slippers, opened my bedroom door, and came out into the corridor.
Everybody’s door seemed to open simultaneously.
Leaning over the banisters, it was easy to tell that the screams were coming from the billiard room.
We dashed down the staircase, the crowd of us—white-faced and anxious—as men and women are, when suddenly aroused by shock! And as we came to the billiard room door, I was conscious that we were one short—and something told me whom we lacked. I was soon to know for sure.
For as I entered the room that held the horror that had brought us flying from our beds I could hear Sir Charles Considine’s voice rising authoritatively above the hum of excitement, “Gentlemen, gentlemen—please—whatever the trouble is—one of you stay outside and keep the ladies from entering.”