In a few moments they were shown into a small sitting room up stairs, where the proprietor, a fussy little gentleman, and apparently very uneasy and frightened, received them.

“We have called here to see Mr. Marston,” said Doctor Danvers, “and the porter has referred us to you.”

“Yes, sir, exactly—­precisely so,” answered the little man, fidgeting excessively, and as it seemed, growing paler every instant; “but—­but, in fact, sir, there is, there has been—­in short, have you not heard of the—­the accident?”

He wound up with a prodigious effort, and wiped his forehead when he had done.

“Pray, sir, be explicit:  we are near friends of Mr. Marston; in fact, sir, this is his son,” said Doctor Danvers, pointing to Charles Marston; “and we are both uneasy at the reserve with which our inquiries have been met.  Do, I entreat of you, say what has happened?”

“Why—­why,” hesitated the man, “I really—­I would not for five hundred pounds it had happened in my house.  The—­the unhappy gentleman has, in short—­”

He glanced at Charles, as if afraid of the effect of the disclosure he was on the point of making, and then hurriedly said—­“He is dead, sir; he was found dead in his room, this morning, at eight o’clock.  I assure you I have not been myself ever since.”

Charles Marston was so stunned by this sudden blow, that he was upon the point of fainting.  Rallying, however, with a strong effort, he demanded to be conducted to the chamber where the body lay.  The man assented, but hesitated on reaching the door, and whispered something in the ear of Doctor Danvers, who, as he heard it, raised his hands and eyes with a mute expression of horror, and turning to Charles, said—­

“My dear young friend, remain where you are for a few moments.  I will return to you immediately, and tell you whatever I have ascertained.  You are in no condition for such a scene at present.”

Charles, indeed, felt that the fact was so, and, sick and giddy, suffered Doctor Danvers, with gentle compulsion, to force him into a seat.

In silence the venerable clergyman followed his conductor.  With a palpitating heart he advanced to the bedside, and twice essayed to draw the curtain, and twice lost courage; but gathering resolution at last, he pulled the drapery aside, and beheld all he was to see again of Richard Marston.

The bedclothes were drawn so as nearly to cover the mouth.

“There is the wound, sir,” whispered the man, as with coarse officiousness he drew back the bedclothes from the throat of the corpse, and exhibited a gash, as it seemed, nearly severing the head from the body.  With sickening horror Doctor Danvers turned away from the awful spectacle.  He covered his face in his hands, and it seemed to him as if a soft, solemn voice whispered in his ear the mystic words, “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.”