"I was sent away," explained the valet, with chattering7 teeth, "by master at eleven o'clock, as he would not let me sit up with him. I came into the room, as usual, about seven o'clock--a few minutes ago, Miss--to see if master wanted me. Then I saw that"--he pointed8 to the bed--"and this!"--he picked up an assegai, which was lying near the escritoire. "Look at the blood on it, Miss, and look at the cruel wound in master's breast."
The bedclothes were perfectly9 smooth, and turned down to the dead man's waist in an orderly manner. The jacket of his pyjamas10 was open, and the breast revealed a ragged11 wound, upon which the blood had congealed12. Apparently13, the assassin, Osip, had found the unfortunate man sound asleep, and, having taken the assegai from the collection of barbaric weapons on the wall, had turned down the clothes to stab his victim with a surer aim. There was no sign of a struggle, and even Clarice's untutored senses told her that Henry Horran had been foully14 murdered in his sleep. But how had the assassin entered? The window--she wheeled round with a set face, and stretched out an arm.
"The window is open," she said, in a dry cracking voice.
"Yes, Miss," whispered Chalks. "Dr. Wentworth saw master, after Dr. Jerce went away, and opened the window, as usual."
"You fool!" cried Clarice, furiously, and recollecting15 Jerce's precautions, in the face of the warning, "you have made two mistakes. You should have obeyed Dr. Jerce in sitting up all night with Mr. Horran; and the window, according to his directions, should have been closed."
"I told you about the window before, Miss," said Chalks, doggedly16. "I let them doctors do what they liked, as it ain't my place to advise medical men. As to sitting up, Dr. Jerce told me to do so, but master insisted that I should leave about eleven, as usual. How can I obey them all?" asked the little man, tearfully. "I ask you that, Miss."
"But you knew the danger, and----"
"What danger, Miss? Master has slept with that window open, off and on, for three years--ever since Dr. Wentworth came to look after him. He said it was to be open, and Dr. Jerce always wanted it to be shut. I let them do what they liked."
"You should have remained all night with Mr. Horran," said Clarice, remembering that Chalks knew nothing about the warning of the Purple Fern, or the need of especial supervision17.
"With a royal Bengal tiger, Miss?" wailed18 Chalks, "for that was what master was last night. I never saw him so cross--never. He seemed to have something on his mind, and went on awful."
"What did he say?" asked Miss Baird, thinking Horran's utterances19 might shed a light on the darkness.
"I can't tell you Miss. It was swearing for the most part. But he made me go to bed, and laughed when I declared that Dr. Jerce told me to sit up with him."
"How did you leave him?"
"Sitting up in bed, swearing."
"With that window open?"
"It was ajar, as Dr. Wentworth left it," explained the valet, cautiously. "Dr. Jerce closed it in the day, and Dr. Wentworth opened it, when he left, about eight o'clock, last night."
"Did you hear any noise in the room during the night?"
"Now, how could I, Miss?" complained the little man, in an injured tone, "seeing that my bedroom is at the back of the house, and that I sleep like a top, through being worn out with master's tempers. I left at eleven last night, and came again at seven; but what happened between them hours, I know no more than you do."
"I know what happened," said Clarice, with a shudder20, and looking at the still figure on the bed. "Murder happened--as you see."
"But why should it happen, Miss? Master had his tempers, but he would not have harmed a fly."
"I can't tell you the reason, Chalks; but, doubtless, Osip intended to murder Mr. Horran for some wicked purpose of his own."
"Osip!" echoed the valet, starting. "Why, that is the man who was going to stop at Mrs. Dumps' Savoy Hotel a few days ago, and didn't."
"What day was that?" asked Clarice, quickly.
Chalks searched his memory, and mentioned the very evening, when Dr. Jerce had been searched on the terrace. There was no longer any doubt in Clarice's mind but what Horran had been killed by Osip; but why so inoffensive a man should be thus cruelly put out of the way she could not conjecture21. However, theorising would not help, so she moved away from the bed with a sigh, and tried to recover her composure.
"You had better go at once for the police, Chalks," she said, rapidly. "Meanwhile, I'll rouse up my brother and the servants."
"They are already up, Miss."
"Do they know?"
"No, Miss. I just cast one glance, and then flew up to you, Miss."
"Why not to Master Ferdinand?"
"Because, Miss, we always look to you for orders," said the valet, respectfully; "and about the body, Miss?"
"Don't touch it--don't touch anything," said Clarice, warningly. "It is necessary that the police should see the room as it is; and on your way to the Police Station, Chalks, send a telegram to Captain Ackworth at Gattlinsands."
"And to Dr. Jerce, in London, Miss?"
"There is no need; Dr. Jerce is coming down to-day, as usual."
Clarice went to see Mrs. Rebson, and communicated the dreadful news of the crime. In a few minutes, the other servants were also informed, and everyone was horrified22 that such a tragedy had taken place in the quiet house. Mr. Horran had little enough to do with the domestics, seeing that he usually kept to his room; but he was sufficiently23 well liked to make one and all regret that he had come to so terrible an end. And Mrs. Rebson's expressions of sorrow were mingled24 with congratulatory comments on the triumph of The Domestic Prophet.
"Didn't I tell you, miss!" she said, nodding convincedly; "didn't I tell you that trouble and death and disgrace would come; and you laughed at me--what do you think of the Prophet now?"
Miss Baird shook her head, being too stunned25 by the catastrophe26 to express her wonder or her reasons for disbelief. She went to her own room to dress, and Mrs. Rebson sailed down to the kitchen with the Domestic Prophet in her hand, ready to partake of a cup of tea, and to expatiate27 on the wonderful manner in which the seer's chance shot had hit the bull's-eye of the future.
Having completed a hasty toilet, Clarice took the key of Ferdy's bedroom from her toilette-table, and went to release him. As might be expected, seeing that the hour was early, Ferdy was still in bed, and fast asleep. When his sister shook him, he rolled over, and muttered something uncomplimentary. His debauch28 of the previous night had left him somewhat haggard; but the night's rest had, to a great extent, smoothed away the lines of dissipation from his handsome face.
"Get up, Ferdy," said Clarice, harshly. "Uncle Henry is dead."
The word--so terribly significant--penetrated even to Ferdy's shallow, sleepy brain, and he sat up with widely-opened, horrified brown eyes. "Uncle Henry!" he gasped29. "Dead!"
"Murdered!" whispered his sister, grey and shaken.
"Wh-a-a-at!" Ferdy sprang out of bed, and his pink pyjamas formed a strange contrast to his white, horrified face. "Clarry, you--you--must--you must be mistaken!"
"I have just seen his body, with a wound in the breast, and with the mark of the Purple Fern on the forehead."
"Clarry!" Ferdinand caught her by the hand. "What I overheard yesterday in the drawing-room--what you and Ackworth and Jerce--?"
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently, and wrenched
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