"What is it, Ramoo?"

"Me not know, sahib. Massa Thorndyke's door shut. Me no able to
make him hear."

"That is curious, Ramoo," Mark said, jumping hastily out of bed.
"I will be with you in a minute."

He slipped on his trousers, coat, and slippers, and then accompanied
Ramoo to his father's door. He knocked again and again, and each
time more loudly, his face growing paler as he did so. Then he
threw himself against the door, but it was solid and heavy.

"Fetch me an ax, Ramoo," he said. "There is something wrong here."

Ramoo returned in a short time with two men servants and with the
ax in his hands. Mark took it, and with a few mighty blows split
the woodwork, and then hurling himself against the door, it yielded.
As he entered the room a cry broke from his lips. Within a pace
or two of the bed the Squire lay on the ground, on his face, and
a deep stain on the carpet at once showed that his death had been
a violent one. Mark knelt by his side now, and touched him. The
body was stiff and cold. The Squire must have been dead for some
hours.

"Murdered!" he said in a low voice; "my father has been murdered."

He remained in horror struck silence for a minute or two; then he
slowly rose to his feet.