"
"Do you know what servants they kept--these two?" asked Ayscough.
"They kept none!" answered the policeman. "Seems to me--from what bit I
saw, you know--they used the house for little more than sleeping in. I've
seen 'em go out of a morning, with books and papers under their arms, and
come home at night--similar. But there's no servants there. Anything
wrong, Mr. Ayscough?"
Ayscough moved toward the bushes.
"There's this much wrong," he answered. "There's one of 'em lying dead
behind those laurels with a knife-thrust through his throat! And I should
say, from the look of things, that he's been lying there several days.
Look here!"
The policeman looked--and beyond a sharp exclamation, remained stolid. He
glanced at his companions, glanced round the garden--and suddenly pointed
to a dark patch on the ground.
"There's blood there!" he said. "Blood!"
"Blood!" exclaimed Ayscough. "There's blood all the way down this path!
The man's been stabbed as he came in at that door, and his body was then
dragged up the path and thrust in here. Now then!--off you go to the
station, and tell 'em what we've found.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257