“No, sir; it’s so damp. So I lay telling myself it was all nonsense and fancy; but the more I thought so, the more uncomfortable I grew, till I could stand it no longer, and I got up, slipped on my trousers and great-coat, and went to the top of the stairs, where I felt quite a chill, as I knew something was not as it should be, for the lamp was not turned out on the hall table.”
“What lamp?”
“The hall lamp that Sir Luke always puts out himself when he goes up to bed.”
“Where do you say you left him last night?”
“In the billiard-room, sir, playing with Mr Tom, sir.”
“Yes; go on.”
“So I went down, sir; and there saw through the baize door that the lamp was burning at the end of the passage at the foot of the billiard-room stairs.”
“Yes.”
“And as soon as I got through the baize door, there, under the lamp, lay my poor master, all like of a heap.”
“What did you do?”