And the next minute the door he held was violently burst open in his face, he himself was knocked backward over a chair, and a man carrying a gun, whose face was muffled in some dark material, rushed across the room, leapt through the window, and disappeared into the night.

* * * * *

Faversham ran into the gallery.  The first thing he saw was the Nattier portrait lying on its face beside a chair overturned.  Beyond it, a dark object on the floor.  At the same moment, he perceived Dixon standing horror-struck, at the farther end of the gallery, with the handle of the door leading to the servants’ quarters still in his grasp.  Then the old man too ran.

The two men were brought up by the same obstacle.  The body of Edmund Melrose lay between them.

Melrose had fallen on his face.  As Faversham and Dixon lifted him, they saw that he was still breathing, though in extremis.  He had been shot through the breast, and a pool of blood lay beneath him, blotting out the faded blues and yellow greens of a Persian carpet.

At the command of her husband, Mrs. Dixon, who had hurried after him, ran for brandy, crying also for help.  Faversham snatched a cushion, put it under the dying man’s head, and loosened his clothing.  Melrose’s eyelids fluttered once or twice, then sank.  With a low groan, a gush of blood from the mouth, he passed away while Dixon prayed.

“May the Lord have mercy—­mercy!”

The old man rocked to and fro beside the corpse in an anguish.  Mrs. Dixon coming with the brandy in her hand was stopped by a gesture from Faversham.

“No use!” He touched Dixon on the shoulder.  “Dixon—­this is murder!  You must go at once for Doctor Undershaw and the police.  Take the motor.  Mrs. Dixon and I will stay here.  But first—­tell me—­after I spoke to you here—­did you go in to Mr. Melrose?”

“I knocked, sir.  But he shouted to me—­angry like—­to go away—­till he rang.  I went back to t’ kitchen, and I had nobbut closed yon door behind me—­when I heard t’ firin’.  I brast it open again—­an’ saw a man—­wi’ summat roun’ his head—­fleein’ doon t’ gallery.  My God!—­my God!—­”

“The man who did it was in the gallery while you and I were speaking to each other,” said Faversham, calmly, as he rose; “and he got in through my window, while I was with Mr. Melrose.”  He described briefly the passage of the murderer through his own room.  “Tell the police to have the main line stations watched without a moment’s delay.  The man’s game would be to get to one or other of them across country.  There’ll be no marks on him—­he fired from a distance—­but his boots are muddy.  About five foot ten I should think—­a weedy kind of fellow.  Go and wake Tonson, and be back as quick as you possibly can.  And listen!—­on your way to the stables call the gardener.  Send him for the farm men, and tell them to search the garden, and the woods by the river.  They’ll find me there.  Or stay—­one of them can come here, and remain with Mrs. Dixon, while I’m gone.  Let them bring lanterns—­quick!”