Again Mr. Juxon’s authoritative tone checked the detective, who drew back, making some angry retort which no one heard.  The squire tried the door and finding it locked, knocked softly, not realising that every word of the altercation had been heard within.

“Who is there?” asked John, who though he had heard all that had been said was uncertain of the issue.

“Let in Doctor Longstreet,” said the squire’s voice.

But meanwhile Mrs. Ambrose and Mary Goddard were standing on each side of the sick man.  He must have heard the noises outside, and they conveyed some impression to his brain.

“Mary, Mary!” he groaned indistinctly.  “Save me—­they are coming—­I cannot get away—­softly, he is coming—­now—­I shall just catch him as he goes by—­Ugh! that dog—­oh! oh!—­”

With a wild shriek, the wretched man sprang up, upon his knees, his eyes starting out, his face transfigured with horror.  For one instant he remained thus, half-supported by the two terror-struck women; then with a groan his head drooped forward upon his breast and he fell back heavily upon the pillows, breathing still but quite unconscious.

Doctor Longstreet entered at that moment and ran to his side.  But when he saw him he paused.  Even Mrs. Ambrose was white with horror, and Mary Goddard stood motionless, staring down at her husband, her hands gripping the disordered coverlet convulsively.

Mr. Juxon had entered, too, while Mr. Ambrose remained outside with the detective, who had been frightened into submission by the physician’s last threat.  The squire saw what was happening and paced the room in the greatest agitation, wringing his hands together and biting his lips.  John had closed the door and came to the foot of the bed and looked at Goddard’s face.  After a pause, Doctor Longstreet spoke.

“We might possibly restore him to consciousness for a moment—­”

“Don’t!” cried Mary Goddard, starting as though some one had struck her.  “That is—­” she added quickly, in broken tones, “unless he can live!”

“No,” answered the physician, gravely, but looking hard at the unhappy woman.  “He is dying.”

Goddard’s staring eyes were glazed and white.  Twice and three times he gasped for breath, and then lay quite still.  It was all over.  Mary gazed at his dead face for one instant, then a faint smile parted her lips:  she raised one hand to her forehead as though dazed.

“He is safe now,” she murmured very faintly.  Her limbs relaxed suddenly, and she fell straight backwards.  Charles Juxon, who was watching her, sprang forward and caught her in his arms.  Then he bore her from the room, swiftly, while John Short who was as white and speechless as the rest opened the door.

“You may go in now,” said Juxon as he passed Booley and Mr. Ambrose in the passage, with his burden in his arms.  A few steps farther on he met Holmes the butler, who carried a telegram on a salver.