Slowly he went, climbing over the fence, and making as little noise as possible. He avoided the gravel paths, butkept on the green lawn, which was velvet-like in its softness.
He arrived by the clump of rose-bushes, and thought he heard a rustling among them. He stopped and listened, holding his breath that no sound might escape his ear. Nothing was discernible to break the silence, however, and he resumed his way toward the house.
Finally he stood on the greensward, about a rod from the window he sought. The light was shining brightly still. But another circumstance increased the surprise of Carlos. The window was a long one, extending to the floor, and protected on the outside by blinds.
The blinds were open, and the lower sash of the window was raised.
He again stopped and listened, but still could hear no sound. He crept slowly up to the window and looked in.
There sat Colonel Conrad by the table, his head bowed over on it, motionless, and apparently asleep. The lamp stood beside him, burning brightly.
Carlos looked earnestly in at the figure of his uncle, debating what step to take next. Should he speak or depart, silently as he had come, leaving him to awake at his leisure?
But even as he looked something sent a choking, sickening sensation through him. He gasped for breath, and nearly fainted away, as he saw on the floor beside his uncle a dark-red pool.
It lay there, a glistening, horrible, fascinating puddle. Carlos stood rooted to the spot, for the moment thrown into a dumb, helpless lethargy. But the spell passed from him, and he suddenly roused himself into action.
He sprang into the room, approached his uncle, and touched his shoulder. The figure moved not. Carlos shivered from head to foot. Then he looked about him furtively. He stepped around to the other side of the motionlessform, and saw in the neck a bloody wound, as if from a single vigorous deep thrust of a dagger. All this was so sudden and so awful that he could not realize its horror for the time being.