He ascended, even to the servants’ rooms on the top floor, but found scarcely a vestige of furniture left.
In one back room, a small half-garret with a slightly eloping roof, he noticed a cupboard which curiosity led him to open, as he had opened other cupboards. As he did so, he saw a bundle upon the floor, as though it had been hastily thrown there.
As he pulled it forth it unrolled, and he then saw that it was a woman’s light grey tweed skirt and coat.
The latter felt damp to his touch, and as he held it up to examine it he saw that the breast and sleeve were both saturated with blood!
It dropped from his nerveless fingers. Some secret crime had been committed in that house, so suddenly and mysteriously divested of its furniture.
But what?
Max Barclay, pale as death, stood gazing around him, staggered, bewildered, horrified, scarce daring to breathe.
Why had Charles Rolfe fled so hurriedly and secretly from the place?