Capel was about to rush into the room, but he stopped on the threshold.
“Miss D’Enghien—Miss Lawrence—this is no place for you. Pray go back to your rooms.”
“Yes,” said Katrine, slowly, “Mr Capel is right. Come, dear, with me.”
She passed her arm round Lydia, and the two seemed to fade away into the darkness, as Capel, Mr Girtle, Artis, and, lastly, the butler went into the room.
Chapter Nine.
Another Discovery.
It was precisely as the butler had said. There was the window open—a window looking out on to some leads. And beyond them the low houses of a mews which ran at the back. There, at a short distance from the bed, was the Colonel’s faithful servant, in a pool of blood, with a kukri—one of those ugly curved Indian knives—clasped tightly in his hand.
“Dead!” said Mr Girtle; and then, rising quickly, he ran to the further portal, drew back the curtain, and found the iron door closed.