could never have fancied a piece of furniture moving.  It seemed to move like a living thing, yielding and yet striking back.  The next moment Grayne had turned on the lights, and he saw he had only stumbled against one of the revolving bookstands that had swung round and struck him; but his involuntary recoil had revealed to him his own subconscious sense of something mysterious and monstrous.  There were several of these revolving bookcases standing here and there about the library; on one of them stood the two cups of coffee, and on another a large open book.  It was Budge’s book on Egyptian hieroglyphics, with colored plates of strange birds and gods, and even as he rushed past, he was conscious of something odd about the fact that this, and not any work of military science, should be open in that place at that moment.  He was even conscious of the gap in the well-lined bookshelf from which it had been taken, and it seemed almost to gape at him in an ugly fashion, like a gap in the teeth of some sinister face.

A run brought them in a few minutes to the other side of the ground in front of the bottomless well, and a few yards from it, in a moonlight almost as broad as daylight, they saw what they had come to see.

The great Lord Hastings lay prone on his face, in a posture in which there was a touch of something strange and stiff, with one elbow erect above his body, the arm being doubled, and his big, bony hand clutching the rank and ragged grass.  A few feet away was Boyle, almost as motionless, but supported on his hands and knees, and staring at the body.  It might have been no more than shock and accident; but there was something ungainly and unnatural about the quadrupedal posture and the gaping face.  It was as if his reason had fled from him.  Behind, there was nothing but the clear blue southern sky, and the beginning of the desert, except for the two great broken stones in front of the well.  And it was in such a light and atmosphere that men could fancy they traced in them enormous and evil faces, looking down.

Horne Fisher stooped and touched the strong hand that was still clutching the grass, and it was as cold as a stone.  He knelt by the body and was busy for a moment applying other tests; then he rose again, and said, with a sort of confident despair: 

“Lord Hastings is dead.”

There was a stony silence, and then Travers remarked, gruffly:  “This is your department, Grayne; I will leave you to question Captain Boyle.  I can make no sense of what he says.”

Boyle had pulled himself together and risen to his feet, but his face still wore an awful expression, making it like a new mask or the face of another man.

“I was looking at the well,” he said, “and when I turned he had fallen down.”

Grayne’s face was very dark.  “As you say, this is my affair,” he said.  “I must first ask you to help me carry him to the library and let me examine things thoroughly.”