Fenton, with an admonitory gesture toward his subordinate, turned
directly toward the staircase. Mr. Sutherland followed him, and
they at once proceeded to the upper hall and into the large front
room which had been the scene of the tragedy.

It was the parlour or sitting-room of this small and unpretentious
house. A rag carpet covered the floor and the furniture was of the
plainest kind, but the woman who lay outstretched on the stiff,
old-fashioned lounge opposite the door was far from being in
accord with the homely type of her surroundings. Though the victim
of a violent death, her face and form, both of a beauty seldom to
be found among women of any station, were so majestic in their
calm repose, that Mr. Sutherland, accustomed as he was to her
noble appearance, experienced a shock of surprise that found vent
in these words:

"Murdered! she? You have made some mistake, my friends. Look at
her face!"

But even in the act of saying this his eyes fell on the blood
which had dyed her cotton dress and he cried:

"Where was she struck and where is the weapon which has made this
ghastly wound?"

"She was struck while standing or sitting at this table," returned
the constable, pointing to two or three drops of blood on its
smooth surface. "The weapon we have not found, but the wound shows
that it was inflicted by a three-sided dagger."