“Telephone for a doctor,” he ordered, “also to the local police-station.”
“FOR GOD’S SAKE, COME! MY MASTER HAS BEEN STRANGLED TO DEATH.”
“LADY ASHLEIGH, I WILL FIND AND BRING TO JUSTICE, THE CRIMINAL.”
He, too, approached the bed and reverently lifted the covering. Lord Ashleigh was lying there, his body a little doubled up, his arms wide outstretched. On his throat were two black marks.
“Where is the valet—Williams?” Quest asked, as he turned away.
The man came forward.
“Tell us at once what you know?” Quest demanded.
“I came in, as usual, to call his lordship before I called you,” the man replied. “He did not answer, but I thought, perhaps, that he was sleepy. I filled his bath, which, as you see, opens out of the room, and then came to attend on you. When you went down to breakfast, I returned to his lordship’s room expecting to find him dressed. Instead of that the room was silent, the bath still unused. I spoke to him—there was no answer. Then I lifted the sheet!”