Mrs. Beecher Monmouth saw no significance in the fact.
"In that case, Cecily," she said, "you may come through this way."
"Thank you, madame." Cecily, in her black dress, white cap and apron, and high-heeled shoes, crossed the carpet. She reached the second door of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's bedroom and opened it. Nobody but John was watching her. As the maid pushed open the door she gave a violent start, stood stock still, then uttered a loud and terrified scream.
"Madame! Madame!" she called, turning a frantic face and wide-staring eyes at her mistress.
"What is it?" cried Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, springing swiftly to her feet.
The four of them were now standing staring blankly at Cecily, who was leaning against the door-frame covering her eyes with one hand and waving an arm frantically towards the bedroom.
Mrs. Monmouth hurried towards her, but it was John who first succeeded in reaching the door. From the threshold he looked into the room. All the softly-shaded golden lights were full on. And half lying, half sitting on the bed he saw the figure of Beecher Monmouth. The inert form was reclining upon its side on the rich purple counterpane. One arm hung over the edge of the bed towards the floor. On the floor itself lay the politician's ivory and electro-plated pistol, one barrel of which had been discharged.
John rushed into the room and looked close into the ashen grey face, but even before he reached the bedside, the very stillness of the prone figure had told him the truth.
* * * * *
The knowledge that had come upon Beecher Monmouth that night had marked the end. And with a courage for which few would have given him credit, considering his weakness, he had taken arms against a sea of troubles. His political life, his ambition, his hopes, the love that he had lavished, had all vanished in a flash. Kurt von Morgen's letters had told him everything, had revealed a sink of iniquity and duplicity such as he had never thought possible. The blow had been too heavy for him to bear. A younger man might have sought relief in vengeance upon the woman who had betrayed him, but he was not of that spirit. He could think of one way only, one act only which could extricate him from his tragic position.