as they learned later they guessed rightly) the man was the master of
the house, who, coming home blind drunk from some distant inn, had
fallen at his own threshold and got frozen to death. As they could not
unclasp his fingers from the broken bottleneck they had to let him
clutch it as a dead warrior clutches the hilt of his broken sword.

Then suddenly the whole place was rent with another and yet another
long, soul-piercing moan of anguish.

"There's a second room," said Doyne, pointing to a door. "The sound
comes from there." He opened the door, peeped in, and then, returning
for the lamp, disappeared, leaving McCurdie and Biggleswade in the pitch
darkness, with the dead man on the floor.

"For heaven's sake, give me a drop of whiskey," said the Professor, "or
I shall faint."

Presently the door opened and Lord Doyne appeared in the shaft of light.
He beckoned to his companions.

"It is a woman in childbirth," he said in his even, tired voice. "We
must aid her. She appears unconscious. Does either of you know anything
about such things?"

They shook their heads, and the three looked at each other in dismay.
Masters of knowledge that had won them world-wide fame and honour, they
stood helpless, abashed before this, the commonest phenomenon of nature.

"My wife had no child," said McCurdie.