Genesis.
Trent lay as he had fallen, with his head on the fender, in a pool of blood which slowly enlarged itself and sopped into the carpet. The sharp edge had fractured his skull. He was stone dead, beyond possibility of doubt, yet both men by a common instinct knelt down and tried to loosen his collar. The heavy head tumbled sideways, against Denis's arm. He sprang up and retreated, with a violent shudder.
"Poor beggar! Poor beggar!" said Gardiner under his breath. "I never saw anything so ghastly in my life! This thing's like a razor." He ran his finger down the edge of the fender. "Good Lord! what an appalling business! Well, I suppose the first thing is to have in the doctor; he can't do any good, of course, but still—Luckily there's one actually staying in the house. Ring the bell, do you mind, Denis? Or, wait a bit, I don't want the maids poking round; I'll go myself."
He was half-way to the door when Denis seized his arm.
"Stop a minute, Harry. Think."
"What's the use of waiting? May as well get it over!"
"No; but think—think! Can't you see what this means?"
His agitation was contagious. "I can see it's going to be very awkward with the house full of visitors, but it's not the time to think of that, is it? What the devil are you driving at?"
"You killed him," said Denis baldly.