Now, Roberts, called by his chums, Bobsy, was himself alert and intelligent, and therefore recognised those traits in others. He listened attentively as Coroner Lamson put his queries. "You were the first to discover your master's dead body?" "Mr. Stannard was not dead when I entered the room," replied Blake. "No, no, to be sure. I mean, you were the first to enter the room after the man was stabbed?" "That I can't say. When I entered----" Blake paused, and glanced uncertainly about. Barry Stannard was looking at the footman with a stern face. Inspector Bardon, who was present, interposed. "Tell the story in your own words, my man. We'll best get at it that way." "I was on duty in the hall," began Blake, slowly, "and I noticed the lights go out in the studio here----" "Was the door between the hall and studio open?" asked Lamson. "No, sir, not open, but it was a very little ajar. I didn't think much about the light going out, though Mr. Stannard never turned off the lights when he left the room to go upstairs to bed. And if it did strike me as a bit queer, I had no time to think the matter over, for just then I heard a slight sound,--a gasping like, as if somebody was in distress. As I had not been called, I didn't enter, but I did try to peep in at the crack of the door. This was not curiosity, but there was something in that gasp that--that scared me a little." "What next?" said the Coroner, as Blake paused. "Just then, sir, Mrs. Faulkner came down the stairs. She was surprised to see me peeping at a door, and spoke chidingly. But I was so alarmed, I forgot myself, and--well, and just then, I heard a distinct sound--a terrible, gurgling sound, and a voice said, 'Help!' I turned to Mrs. Faulkner to see if she had heard it, and she had, for her face looked frightened and she asked me what it meant, and she told me to go in and turn on the light. So--so, I did, and then I saw----" "Be very careful now, Blake; tell us exactly what you saw." "I saw Mr. Stannard first, at the other end of the room, in his favourite big chair, and he was like a man dying----" "Have you ever seen a man die?" Lamson snapped out the words as if his own nerves were at a tension. "No--no, sir." "Then how do you know how one would look?" "I saw something had been thrust into his breast, I saw red stains on his shirt front, and I saw his face, drawn as in agony, and his eyes staring, yet with a sort of glaze over them, and his hands stretched out, but sort of fluttering, as if he had lost control over his muscles. I couldn't think other than that he was a dying man, sir." "That is what I want you to tell, Blake. An exact account of the scene as it appeared to you. Now the rest of it. Were you too absorbed in the spectacle of Mr. Stannard's plight to see clearly the others who were present?"