“Stand at the window, sir,” he said to Capel. “You, sir, keep the door. Now, then,” he cried, as soon as he had been obeyed, and in a sharp, authoritative voice. “The game’s up. Out you came.”
Capel set his teeth hard, for all this was horrible in that chamber of death.
“Do you hear?” cried the constable, sharply, for there was neither word nor movement from beneath the bed. “Oh, very well,” he continued, “only I warn you I stand no nonsense.” And the occupants of the room prepared for a struggle, with beating hearts.
The constable stepped back to them, and from behind his hand, said, softly:
“Be ready, perhaps there’s two.”
He stepped back and stooped with his staff ready for a blow.
“Now, then,” he cried; “is it surrender?”
There was no answer, and, he thrust his hand beneath the bed, seized the man’s leg, and dragged him out into the room, but only to loose his hold and start away.
“Why, doctor!” he cried, “he’s dead.”
The doctor caught up a candlestick and dropped on one knee beside the fresh horror, while the light from the bull’s-eye was again brought to bear, and mingled with the wan, yellow rays that struggled in through the panes.