"No; but my horse did."
"Your horse? Oh, Beverley,—d'you mean he—"
"Killed him, Dick!"
Once more the Viscount sank back among his pillows and stared up at the ceiling a while ere he spoke again—
"By the Lord, Bev," said he, at last, "the stable-boys might well call him 'The Terror'!"
"Yes," said Barnabas, "he has earned his name, Dick."
"And the man was—dead, you say?"
"Hideously dead, Dick,—and in his pocket we found this!" and Barnabas produced a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, and put it into the Viscount's reluctant hand. "Look at it, Dick, and tell me what it is."
"Why, Bev,—deuce take me, it's a plan of our stables! And they've got it right, too! Here's 'Moonraker's' stall marked out as pat as you please, and 'The Terror's,' but they've got his name wrong—"
"My horse had no name, Dick."