"Shot through the heart!" he said.

"He looked so ... so limp," the boy said, shrinking back a little, "I
thought he was dead. But I never thought old Hartley would have done a
thing like that ..."

The doctor pursed up his lips as if to speak. But he remained silent for
a moment. Then he said:

"Horace, the police must be informed. We can do that on the telephone.
This room must be left just as it is until they come. I can do nothing
more for poor Hartley. And we shall have to tell the others. I'd better
do that myself. I wonder where Greve is? I haven't seen him all the
afternoon. As a barrister he should be able to advise us about--er, the
technicalities: the police and all that ..."

Rapid footsteps reverberated down the corridor. Robin Greve appeared at
the door. The fat and frightened face of Bude appeared over his
shoulder.

"Good God, Doctor!" he cried, "what's this Bude tells me?"

The doctor cleared his throat.

"Our poor friend is dead, Greve," he said.

"But how? How?"

Greve stood opposite the doctor in the centre of the library. He had
switched on the light at the door as he had come in, and the room was