If he had suddenly received a blow from a life-preserver, Hugh could not have been, for the moment, more stunned and dazed.
“Murdered—your master—last night?”
He stared at the man. It was inconceivable. The incredible horror of it was that he had passed the night, keenly awake, in the house. Israel Hart murdered, a few yards away from him, without uttering a cry, giving out a sound in the death-struggle—it passed realisation.
“Yes, sir, in his study,” said the butler with tears in his eyes and with quivering lips. “The housemaid found him at a quarter to seven this morning.”
“How did it happen?”
“Someone hit him with something heavy—just over here.”
The man passed his hand upwards from his temple to his skull.
“It has been terrible work this morning,” he added, with a shiver.
The first shock over, Hugh recovered his balance.
“I will come with you at once. Tell me the details while I dress.”