policemen were still about the place where the murder was committed,
seeking out for some trace of the murderer. Having said this, they
stopped speaking.

Mr. Carson had listened attentively, never taking his eyes off the
dead body. When they had ended, he said--

"Where was he shot?"

They lifted up some of the thick chestnut curls, and showed a blue
spot (you could hardly call it a hole, the flesh had closed so much
over it) in the left temple. A deadly aim! And yet it was so dark a
night!

"He must have been close upon him," said one policeman.

"And have had him between him and the sky," added the other.

There was a little commotion at the door of the room, and there
stood poor Mrs. Carson, the mother.

She had heard unusual noises in the house, and had sent down her
maid (much more a companion to her than her highly-educated
daughters) to discover what was going on. But the maid either
forgot, or dreaded, to return; and with nervous impatience Mrs.
Carson came down herself, and had traced the hum and buzz of voices
to the servants' hall.

Mr. Carson turned round. But he could not leave the dead for any
one living.