It was a
drop of congealed blood. Further on towards the window was another,
and yes, further still, another and another. I even found one upon
the very window ledge itself. Bounding into the room, I searched the
carpet for further traces. It was the worst one in the world to find
anything upon of the nature of which I was seeking, being a confused
pattern of mingled drab and red, and in my difficulty I had to stoop
very low.
"What are you looking for?" cried Mrs. Daniels.
I pointed to the drop on the window sill. "Do you see that?" I asked.
She uttered an exclamation and bent nearer. "Blood!" cried she, and
stood staring, with rapidly paling cheeks and trembling form. "They
have killed her and he will never--"
As she did not finish I looked up.
"Do you think it was her blood?" she whispered in a horrified tone.
"There is every reason to believe so," rejoined I, pointing to a spot
where I had at last discovered not only one crimson drop but many,
scattered over the scarcely redder roses under my feet.
"Ah, it is worse than I thought," murmured she. "What are you going to
do? What can we do?
"I am going to send for another detective," returned I; and stepping
to the window I telegraphed at once to the man Harris to go for Mr.
Gryce.
"The one we saw at the Station?"
I bowed assent.
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