I had told the groom to come into the brougham
with me so that he could tell me what had happened as we went along. He sat awkwardly, with his hat on his knees as he spoke. “Miss Trelawny, sir, sent a man to tell us to get out a carriage at
once; and when we was ready she come herself and gave me the letter and
told Morgan—the coachman, sir—to fly. She said as I was to lose not
a second, but to keep knocking till someone come.”

“Yes, I know, I know—you told me! What I want to know is, why she
sent for me. What happened in the house?”

“I don’t quite know myself, sir; except that master was found in his
room senseless, with the sheets all bloody, and a wound on his head. He
couldn’t be waked nohow. Twas Miss Trelawny herself as found him.”

“How did she come to find him at such an hour? It was late in the
night, I suppose?”

“I don’t know, sir; I didn’t hear nothing at all of the details.”

As he could tell me no more, I stopped the carriage for a moment to let
him get out on the box; then I turned the matter over in my mind as I
sat alone. There were many things which I could have asked the
servant; and for a few moments after he had gone I was angry with
myself for not having used my opportunity. On second thought, however,
I was glad the temptation was gone. I felt that it would be more
delicate to learn what I wanted to know of Miss Trelawny’s surroundings
from herself, rather than from her servants. We bowled swiftly along Knightsbridge, the small noise of our
well-appointed vehicle sounding hollowly in the morning air. We turned
up the Kensington Palace Road and presently stopped opposite a great
house on the left-hand side, nearer, so far as I could judge, the
Notting Hill than the Kensington end of the avenue. It was a truly
fine house, not only with regard to size but to architecture. Even in
the dim grey light of the morning, which tends to diminish the size of
things, it looked big. Miss Trelawny met me in the hall. She was not in any way shy. She
seemed to rule all around her with a sort of high-bred dominance, all
the more remarkable as she was greatly agitated and as pale as snow. In the great hall were several servants, the men standing together near
the hall door, and the women clinging together in the further corners
and doorways. A police superintendent had been talking to Miss
Trelawny; two  men in uniform and one plain-clothes man stood near him. As she took my hand impulsively there was a look of relief in her eyes,
and she gave a gentle sigh of relief. Her salutation was simple. “I knew you would come!”

The clasp of the hand can mean a great deal, even when it is not
intended to mean anything especially. Miss Trelawny’s hand somehow
became lost in my own. It was not that it was a small hand; it was
fine and flexible, with long delicate fingers—a rare and beautiful
hand; it was the unconscious self-surrender. And though at the moment
I could not dwell on the cause of the thrill which swept me, it came
back to me later. She turned and said to the police superintendent:

“This is Mr. Malcolm Ross.”  The police officer saluted as he answered:

“I know Mr. Malcolm Ross, miss. Perhaps he will remember I had the
honour of working with him in the Brixton Coining case.”  I had not at
first glance noticed who it was, my whole attention having been taken
with Miss Trelawny. “Of course, Superintendent Dolan, I remember very well!” I said as we
shook hands. I could not but note that the acquaintanceship seemed a
relief to Miss Trelawny. There was a certain vague uneasiness in her
manner which took my attention; instinctively I felt that it would be
less embarrassing for her to speak with me alone. So I said to the
Superintendent:

“Perhaps it will be better if Miss Trelawny will see me alone for a few
minutes. You, of course, have already heard all she knows; and I shall
understand better how things are if I may ask some questions. I will
then talk the matter over with you if I may.”

“I shall be glad to be of what service I can, sir,” he answered
heartily. Following Miss Trelawny, I moved over to a dainty room which opened
from the hall and looked out on the garden at the back of the house. When we had entered and I had closed the door she said:

“I will thank you later for your goodness in coming to me in my
trouble; but at present you can best help me when you know the facts.”

“Go on,” I said. “Tell me all you know and spare no detail, however
trivial it may at the present time seem to be.”  She went on at once:

“I was awakened by some sound; I do not know what. I only know that it
came through my sleep; for all at once I found myself awake, with my
heart beating wildly, listening anxiously for some sound from my
Father’s room. My room is next Father’s, and I can often hear him
moving about before I fall asleep. He works late at night, sometimes
very late indeed; so that when I wake early, as I do occasionally, or
in the grey of the dawn, I hear him still moving. I tried once to
remonstrate with him about staying up so late, as it cannot be good for
him; but I never ventured to repeat the experiment. You know how stern
and cold he can be—at least you may remember what I told you about
him; and when he is polite in this mood he is dreadful. When he is
angry I can bear it much better; but when he is slow and deliberate,
and the side of his mouth lifts up to show the sharp teeth, I think I
feel—well, I don’t know how! Last night I got up softly and stole to
the door, for I really feared to disturb him. There was not any noise
of moving, and no kind of cry at all; but there was a queer kind of
dragging sound, and a slow, heavy breathing. Oh! it was dreadful,
waiting there in the dark and the silence, and fearing—fearing I did
not know what! “At last I took my courage a deux mains, and turning the handle as
softly as I could, I opened the door a tiny bit. It was quite dark
within; I could just see the outline of the windows. But in the
darkness the sound of breathing, becoming more distinct, was appalling. As I listened, this continued; but there was no other sound. I pushed
the door open all at once. I was afraid to open it slowly; I felt as
if there might be some dreadful thing behind it ready to pounce out on
me! Then I switched on the electric light, and stepped into the room. I looked first at the bed. The sheets were all crumpled up, so that I
knew Father had been in bed; but there was a great dark red patch in
the centre of the bed, and spreading to the edge of it, that made my
heart stand still. As I was gazing at it the sound of the breathing
came across the room, and my eyes followed to it. There was Father on
his right side with the other arm under him, just as if his dead body
had been thrown there all in a heap. The track of blood went across
the room up to the bed, and there was a pool all around him which
looked terribly red and glittering as I bent over to examine him. The
place where he lay was right in front of the big safe.