remembered　it　now。　　It　had　said：　　〃Mr。　Byrne！　　Look　out；　sir！〃　　A
  warning　this。　　But　against　what？
  He　landed　with　one　leap　in　the　middle　of　the　floor；　gasped　once；
  then　looked　all　round　the　room。　　The　window　was　shuttered　and
  barred　with　an　iron　bar。　　Again　he　ran　his　eyes　slowly　all　round
  the　bare　walls；　and　even　looked　up　at　the　ceiling；　which　was　rather
  high。　　Afterwards　he　went　to　the　door　to　examine　the　fastenings。
  They　consisted　of　two　enormous　iron　bolts　sliding　into　holes　made
  in　the　wall；　and　as　the　corridor　outside　was　too　narrow　to　admit　of
  any　battering　arrangement　or　even　to　permit　an　axe　to　be　swung；
  nothing　could　burst　the　door　open　…　unless　gunpowder。　　But　while　he
  was　still　making　sure　that　the　lower　bolt　was　pushed　well　home；　he
  received　the　impression　of　somebody's　presence　in　the　room。　　It　was
  so　strong　that　he　spun　round　quicker　than　lightning。　　There　was　no
  one。　　Who　could　there　be？　　And　yet　。　。　。
  It　was　then　that　he　lost　the　decorum　and　restraint　a　man　keeps　up
  for　his　own　sake。　　He　got　down　on　his　hands　and　knees；　with　the
  lamp　on　the　floor；　to　look　under　the　bed；　like　a　silly　girl。　　He
  saw　a　lot　of　dust　and　nothing　else。　　He　got　up；　his　cheeks　burning；
  and　walked　about　discontented　with　his　own　behaviour　and
  unreasonably　angry　with　Tom　for　not　leaving　him　alone。　　The　words：
  〃Mr。　Byrne！　　Look　out；　sir；〃　kept　on　repeating　themselves　in　his
  head　in　a　tone　of　warning。
  〃Hadn't　I　better　just　throw　myself　on　the　bed　and　try　to　go　to
  sleep；〃　he　asked　himself。　　But　his　eyes　fell　on　the　tall　wardrobe；
  and　he　went　towards　it　feeling　irritated　with　himself　and　yet
  unable　to　desist。　　How　he　could　explain　to…morrow　the　burglarious
  misdeed　to　the　two　odious　witches　he　had　no　idea。　　Nevertheless　he
  inserted　the　point　of　his　hanger　between　the　two　halves　of　the　door
  and　tried　to　prize　them　open。　　They　resisted。　　He　swore；　sticking
  now　hotly　to　his　purpose。　　His　mutter：　　〃I　hope　you　will　be
  satisfied；　confound　you；〃　was　addressed　to　the　absent　Tom。　　Just
  then　the　doors　gave　way　and　flew　open。
  He　was　there。
  He　…　the　trusty；　sagacious；　and　courageous　Tom　was　there；　drawn　up
  shadowy　and　stiff；　in　a　prudent　silence；　which　his　wide…open　eyes
  by　their　fixed　gleam　seemed　to　command　Byrne　to　respect。　　But　Byrne
  was　too　startled　to　make　a　sound。　　Amazed；　he　stepped　back　a　little
  …　and　on　the　instant　the　seaman　flung　himself　forward　headlong　as
  if　to　clasp　his　officer　round　the　neck。　　Instinctively　Byrne　put
  out　his　faltering　arms；　he　felt　the　horrible　rigidity　of　the　body
  and　then　the　coldness　of　death　as　their　heads　knocked　together　and
  their　faces　came　into　contact。　　They　reeled；　Byrne　hugging　Tom
  close　to　his　breast　in　order　not　to　let　him　fall　with　a　crash。　　He
  had　just　strength　enough　to　lower　the　awful　burden　gently　to　the
  floor　…　then　his　head　swam；　his　legs　gave　way；　and　he　sank　on　his
  knees；　leaning　over　the　body　with　his　hands　resting　on　the　breast
  of　that　man　once　full　of　generous　life；　and　now　as　insensible　as　a
  stone。
  〃Dead！　my　poor　Tom；　dead；〃　he　repeated　mentally。　　The　light　of　the
  lamp　standing　near　the　edge　of　the　table　fell　from　above　straight
  on　the　stony　empty　stare　of　these　eyes　which　naturally　had　a　mobile
  and　merry　expression。
  Byrne　turned　his　own　away　from　them。　　Tom's　black　silk　neckerchief
  was　not　knotted　on　his　breast。　　It　was　gone。　　The　murderers　had
  also　taken　off　his　shoes　and　stockings。　　And　noticing　this
  spoliation；　the　exposed　throat；　the　bare　up…turned　feet；　Byrne　felt
  his　eyes　run　full　of　tears。　　In　other　respects　the　seaman　was　fully
  dressed；　neither　was　his　clothing　disarranged　as　it　must　have　been
  in　a　violent　struggle。　　Only　his　checked　shirt　had　been　pulled　a
  little　out　the　waistband　in　one　place；　just　enough　to　ascertain
  whether　he　had　a　money　belt　fastened　round　his　body。　　Byrne　began
  to　sob　into　his　handkerchief。
  It　was　a　nervous　outburst　which　passed　off　quickly。　　Remaining　on
  his　knees　he　contemplated　sadly　the　athletic　body　of　as　fine　a
  seaman　as　ever　had　drawn　a　cutlass；　laid　a　gun；　or　passed　the
  weather　earring　in　a　gale；　lying　stiff　and　cold；　his　cheery；
  fearless　spirit　departed　…　perhaps　turning　to　him；　his　boy　chum；　to
  his　ship　out　there　rolling　on　the　grey　seas　off　an　iron…bound
  coast；　at　the　very　moment　of　its　flight。
  He　perceived　that　the　six　brass　buttons　of　Tom's　jacket　had　been
  cut　off。　　He　shuddered　at　the　notion　of　the　two　miserable　and
  repulsive　witches　busying　themselves　ghoulishly　about　the
  defenceless　body　of　his　friend。　　Cut　off。　　Perhaps　with　the　same
  knife　which　。　。　。　The　head　of　one　trembled；　the　other　was　bent
  double；　and　their　eyes　were　red　and　bleared；　their　infamous　claws
  unsteady。　。　。　It　must　have　been　in　this　very　room　too；　for　Tom
  could　not　have　been　killed　in　the　open　and　brought　in　here
  afterwards。　　Of　that　Byrne　was　certain。　　Yet　those　devilish　crones
  could　not　have　killed　him　themselves　even　by　taking　him　unawares　…
  and　Tom　would　be　always　on　his　guard　of　course。　　Tom　was　a　very
  wide　awake　wary　man　when　engaged　on　any　service。　。　。　And　in　fact
  how　did　they　murder　him？　　Who　did？　　In　what　way？
  Byrne　jumped　up；　snatched　the　lamp　off　the　table；　and　stooped
  swiftly　over　the　body。　　The　light　revealed　on　the　clothing　no
  stain；　no　trace；　no　spot　of　blood　anywhere。　　Byrne's　hands　began　to
  shake　so　that　he　had　to　set　the　lamp　on　the　floor　and　turn　away　his
  head　in　order　to　recover　from　this　agitation。
  Then　he　began　to　explore　that　cold；　still；　and　rigid　body　for　a
  stab；　a　gunshot　wound；　for　the　trace　of　some　killing　blow。　　He　felt
  all　over　the　skull　anxiously。　　It　was　whole。　　He　slipped　his　hand
  under　the　neck。　　It　was　unbroken。　　With　terrified　eyes　he　peered
  close　under　the　chin　and　saw　no　marks　of　strangulation　on　the
  throat。
  There　were　no　signs　anywhere。　　He　was　just　dead。
  Impulsively　Byrne　got　away　from　the　body　as　if　the　mystery　of　an
  incomprehensible　death　had　changed　his　pity　into　suspicion　and
  dread。　　The　lamp　on　the　floor　near　the　set；　still　face　of　the
  seaman　showed　it　staring　at　the　ceiling　as　if　despairingly。　　In　the
  circle　of　light　Byrne　saw　by　the　undisturbed　patches　of　thick　dust
  on　the　floor　that　there　had　been　no　struggle　in　that　room。　　〃He　has
  died　outside；〃　he　thought。　　Yes；　outside　in　that　narrow　corridor；
  where　there　was　hardly　room　to　turn；　the　mysterious　death　had　come
  to　his　poor　dear　Tom。　　The　impulse　of　snatching　up　his　pistols　and
  rushing　out　of　the　room　abandoned　Byrne　suddenly。　　For　Tom；　too；
  had　been　armed　…　with　just　such　powerless　weapons　as　he　himself
  possessed　…　pistols；　a　cutlass！　　And　Tom　had　died　a　nameless　death；
  by　incomprehensible　means。
  A　new　thought　came　to　Byrne。　　That　stranger　knocking　at　the　door
  and　fleeing　so　swiftly　at　his　appearance　had　come　there　to　remove
  the　body。　　Aha！　　That　was　the　guide　the　withered　witch　had　promised
  would　show　the　English　officer　the　shortest　way　of　rejoining　his
  man。　　A　promise；　he　saw　it　now；　of　dreadful　import。　　He　who　had
  knocked　would　have　two　bodies　to　deal　with。　　Man　and　officer　would
  go　forth　from　the　house　together。　　For　Byrne　was　certain　now　that
  he　would　have　to　die　before　the　morning　…　and　in　the　same
  mysterious　manner；　leaving　behind　him　an　unmarked　body。
  The　sight　of　a　smashed　head；　of　a　throat　cut；　of　a　gaping　gunshot
  wound；　would　have　been　an　inexpressible　relief。　　It　would　have
  soothed　all　his　fears。　　His　soul　cried　within　him　to　that　dead　man
  whom　he　had　never　found　wanting　in　danger。　　〃Why　don't　you　tell　me
  what　I　am　to　look　for；　Tom？　　Why　don't　you？〃　　But　in　rigid
  immobility；　extended　on　his　back；　he　seemed　to　preserve　an　austere
  silence；　as　if　disdaining　in　the　finality　of　his　awful　knowledge　to
  hold　converse　with　the　living。
  Suddenly　Byrne　flung　himself　on　his　knees　by　the　side　of　the　body；
  and　dry…eyed；　fierce；　opened　the　shirt　wide　on　the　breast；　as　if　to
  tear　the　secret　forcibly　from　that　cold　heart　which　had　been　so
  loyal　to　him　in　life！　　Nothing！　　Nothing！　　He　raised　the　lamp；　and
  all　the　sign　vouchsafed　to　him　by　that　face　which　used　to　be　so
  kindly　in　expression　was　a　small　bruise　on　the　forehead　…　the　least
  thing；　a　mere　mark。　　The　skin　even　was　not　broken。　　He　stared　at　it
  a　long　time　as　if　lost　in　a　dreadful　dream。　　Then　he　observed　that
  Tom's　hands　were　clenched　as　though　he　had　fallen　facing　somebody
  in　a　fight　with　fists。　　His　knuckles；　on　closer　view；　appeared
  somewhat　abraded。　　Both　hands。
  The　discovery　of　these　slight　signs　was　more　appalling　to　Byrne
  than　the　absolute　absence　of　every　mark　would　have　been。　　So　Tom
  had　died　striking　against　something　which　could　be　hit；　and　yet
  co