THE KNIFE-THROWER.
With the sleeve of his shirt Dick wiped the blood from his cheek, looked down at Ockley, and then up at Amaryllis, half-way down the stair.
"That's four. Where's the fifth?" he asked.
"He ran out there," she answered. "You frightened him."
"Come down," said Dick; and when she reached the floor, she found him kneeling by Melchard, searching his pockets.
She came close and touched him on the shoulder.
"Let's get out of the house—now, now!" she pleaded, lowering her voice in the presence of so much that looked like death.
"Pocket these," said Dick, handing behind him some letters and a pocket-book.
With a sharp tug he disengaged the side-pocket wedged between Melchard's body and the floor, and from it took out a small parcel wrapped in white paper. Of its two seals one had been broken. He peered into the opened end.
"Small bottle—white powder," he said.