“I want to see that room,” said Michael.
“I haven’t the key.”
“Then get it,” said Michael sharply.
Eventually the baronet found a pass-key in his pocket, and, with every sign of reluctance, he opened the door.
“She went away in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “She was taken so ill that I had to get rid of her.”
“If she left here because she was ill she went into an institution of some kind, the name of which you will be able to give me,” said Michael, as he turned on the light.
One glance at the room told him that the story of her hasty departure may have been accurate. But that the circumstances were normal, the appearance of the room denied. The bed was in confusion; there was blood on the pillow, and a dark brown stain on the wall. A chair was broken; the carpet had odd and curious stains, one like the print of a bare foot. On a sheet was an indubitable hand-print, but such a hand as no human being had ever possessed.
“The mark of the beast,” said Michael, pointing. “That’s Bhag!”
Again the baronet licked his lips.
“There was a bit of a fight here,” he said. “The man came up and pretended to identify the servant as his wife——”