As we came in sight of the house, we were struck by the peculiar hush about it, and there were no lights in the windows.
"No lights!" the "King" and I exclaimed together, involuntarily hurrying our steps, with a foreboding of we knew not what in our hearts. As we crossed the lawn, the house loomed up dark and still, and the door opening on to the loggia was a square of blackness, in a gloom of shadows hardly less profound. Not a sound, not a sign of life!
"Calypso!" we both cried out, as we rushed across the loggia. "Calypso! where are you?—but there was no answer; and then, I, being ahead of the "King," stumbled over something dark lying across the doorway.
"Good God! what is this?" I cried, and, bending down, I saw that it was Samson.
The "King" struck a match. Yes! it was Samson, poor fellow, with a dagger firmly planted in his heart.
Near by, something white caught my eye attached to the lintel of the doorway. It was a piece of paper held there with a sailor's knife. I tore it off in a frenzy, and—the "King" striking another match—we read it together. It bore but a few words, written all in capital letters with a coarse pencil:
"WILL RETURN THE LADY IN EXCHANGE FOR THE TREASURE," and it was signed "H.P.T."