"Where?" whispered Martin.
Ralph jerked his head in motion to the window.
"In the boathouse," he said.
He seemed incapable of doing anything practical, and Martin rose to the occasion.
"You are sure it is—all over? Quite sure that he is dead?"
"Someone has shot him through the heart," said Ralph, in cold and measured tones.
Martin wiped his eyes.
"Perhaps there is a chance. God grant there may be! Will you run for the doctor, sir, while I go down to him? I'll just tell the housekeeper to get Sir Geoffrey's room in order and have the young servants out of the way, and I'll be at the boathouse with some of the men to carry him home. The poor master!"
Ralph did as he was bid, glad to accept a subordinate place, and Martin, with tears running down his cheeks, hastened to give his instructions to the housekeeper. Then, taking some cushions from the servants' hall, he hurried into the stables to summon help; a couple of long shutters were procured to serve as a litter presently, and in a few minutes the group of awestruck men reached the scene of the tragedy.
It was while they were waiting for Ralph to come with the doctor and bring the key of the boathouse that the necessity of calling in the police occurred to Martin.