Bewildered, but striving hard to grasp the situation and do his exact duty, Moore looked about, and quickly concluded his next move was to call the doctor.
Pagett, on the second floor, was the physician of the house, and Moore raced up the stairs to his apartment.
Ringing the bell continuously brought the doctor to the door.
“What’s happened?” he said, sleepily.
“Murder!” answered Moore, briefly. “Hike into some clothes and get downstairs. Sir Herbert Binney’s been done for!”
Not waiting, Moore ran back down the stairs, and took his station guarding the dead man. He resolved to touch nothing, but his attention at once fell on a bit of paper, on which Binney had evidently been scrawling some message, with the pencil that had at last fallen from his nerveless fingers.
Careful not to touch the paper, Moore devoured it with his eyes.
This is what he read:
