Arnold, for a moment or two, felt himself incapable of speech or movement. Fenella was hanging, a dead weight, upon his arm. The eyes of both of them were riveted upon the hand which stretched into the room.
“There is some one under the couch!” Fenella faltered at last.
He took a step forward.
“Wait,” he begged, “—or perhaps you had better go away. I will see who it is.”
He moved toward the couch. She strove to hold him back.
“Arnold,” she cried, hoarsely, “this is no business of yours! You had better leave me! Groves is here, and the servants. Slip away now, while you have the chance.”
He looked at her in amazement.
“Why, Fenella,” he exclaimed, “how can you suggest such a thing! Besides,” he added, “Groves saw me climb in at the window. He was with me outside.”
She wrung her hands.
“I forgot!” she moaned. “Don’t move the sofa while I am looking!”
There was a knock at the door. They both turned round. It was Groves’ voice speaking. He had returned to the house and was waiting outside.
“Can I come in, madam?”
Fenella moved slowly towards the door and admitted him. Then Arnold, setting his teeth, rolled back the couch. A man was lying there, stretched at full length. His face was colorless except for a great blue bruise near his temple. Arnold stared at him for a moment with horrified eyes.
“My God!” he muttered.
There was a brief silence. Fenella looked across at Arnold.
“You know him!”
Arnold’s first attempt at speech failed. When the words came they sounded choked. There was a horrible dry feeling in his throat.
“It is the man who looked in at the window that night,” he whispered. “I saw him—only a few hours ago. It is the same man.”
Fenella came slowly to his side. She leaned over his shoulder.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
Her tone was cold and unnatural. Her paroxysm of fear seemed to have passed.
“I don’t know,” Arnold answered. “Let Groves telephone for a doctor.”
The man half turned away, yet hesitated. Fenella fell on her knees and bent over the prostrate body.
“He is not dead,” she declared. “Groves, tell me exactly who is in the house?”
“There is no one here at all, madam,” the man answered, “except the servants, and they are all in the other wing. We have had no callers whatever this evening.”
“And Mr. Weatherley?”
“Mr. Weatherley arrived home about seven o’clock,” Groves replied, “dined early, and went to bed immediately afterwards. He complained of a headache and looked very unwell.”
Fenella rose slowly to her feet. She looked from Arnold to the prostrate figure upon the carpet.