The women servants were
going about their duties faithfully enough, but with a marked absence of
any superfluous energy. Mr. Harrison, the butler, was enjoying a quiet
pipe in his room and a leisurely perusal of the morning paper. Mrs.
Ellis, the much-respected housekeeper, was also in her room comfortably
ensconced in an easy-chair, and studying a new volume of collected menus
which a friend had sent her from Paris. The servants were not exactly
neglecting their work, but every one was appreciating a certain sense of
peace which the emptying of the house from a crowd of more or less
exacting guests had brought about.
In one room only things were different, and neither Mrs. Ellis nor Mr.
Harrison, nor any of the household, knew anything about that. It was the
principal guest-chamber on the first floor--a large and handsomely
furnished apartment. Barely an hour ago it had been left in spotless
order by a couple of painstaking servants. Just now it had another
aspect.
In the middle of the room a man lay stretched upon the floor, face
downwards. The blood was slowly trickling from a wound in the side of
the head down on to the carpet.
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