Along the way I collided with something, something moving that twisted away from me and cried out. It was Maida and at my voice she answered.
“What is it! What has happened! Was it Room 18?”
“Room 18! What can we——”
“We must have a light. In the kitchen—there’s a candle——” I heard the swift, soft thud of her feet as they moved away and I kept on, feeling along the cold, dank wall, groping my way past open doors. It seemed an eternity before I reached the end of the corridor and felt the small panes of glass in the south door under my fingers. I turned sharply to the left. Beyond that black void stretched Room 18. I paused at its threshold but something drove me on, into the room.
Here was the wall. Here was the electric light button. Here the bedside table. I bent, feeling along the rough weave of the counterpane on the bed, took a few steps further, trod on something hideously soft and yielding, and sprang backward in stark terror.
Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, my heart clamouring in my throat choking me, my hands pressed against my teeth, I could not even scream.
What lay there? What was in that room?
Then I realized dimly that Maida was coming, that a small circle of light was at the door, that a hand was holding a lamp unsteadily and the wavering flame was casting grotesque shadows on Maida’s chin and mouth. Above them her eyes were wide and black and mirrored my terror.
I saw her hand advance, pointing at my feet. It shook. Her mouth opened in a voiceless cry and I forced myself to look downward.
It was Higgins, sprawled there at the foot of the bed. He had been shot!