"No--I remember, it is in the inner room. But do not trouble yourself--I will fetch it myself." "Very good, sir;" and the waiter did not move. The young officer sauntered, in a seeming leisurely manner, into the innermost room of the suite. "What a shocking scene!" whispered Markham to Chichester. "I am glad I came hither this once: it will be a lesson for me which I can never forget." At this instant the report of a pistol echoed sharply through the rooms. There was a simultaneous rush to the inner apartment:--Markham's presentiments were fulfilled--the young officer had committed suicide. His brains were literally blown out, and he lay upon the carpet weltering in his blood. A cry of horror burst from the strangers present; and then, with one accord, they hastened to the door. The baronet, Chichester, and Talbot, were amongst the foremost who made this movement, and were thereby enabled to effect their escape. Markham stood rivetted to the spot, unaware that his companions had left him, and contemplating with feelings of supreme horror the appalling spectacle before him. Suddenly the cry of "The police" fell upon his ears; and heavy steps were heard hurrying up the staircase. "The Bank!" ejaculated one of the Croupiers. "All right!" cried the other; and in a moment the lights were extinguished, as by magic, throughout the entire suite of rooms. Obeying a natural impulse, Markham hastened towards the door; but his progress was stopped by a powerful hand, and in an instant the bull's-eye of a lantern glared upon his countenance. He was in the grasp of a police officer. CHAPTER XIV. THE STATION-HOUSE. OF all the persons who were in the gambling-house at the moment when the police, alarmed by the report of the pistol, broke in, Richard Markham was alone captured. The others, aware of the means of egress in emergencies of this kind, had rushed up stairs, entered upon the leads, and thus obtained admittance into the adjacent dwelling, from whose friendly doors they subsequently issued one by one when all was once more quiet in the street. The police-officer conducted Markham to the nearest station-house. They entered a low dark gloomy apartment, which was divided into two parts by means of a thick wooden bar running across the room, about two feet and a half from the ground. There was a small dull fire in the grate; and in a comfortable arm-chair near it, was seated the inspector--a short, stout, red-faced, consequential-looking man, with a pen stuck behind his left ear. A policeman in uniform was standing at a high desk, turning over the leaves of a large book; and another officer in plain clothes (and very plain and shabby they were too) was lounging before the fire, switching the dust out of his trousers with a thin cane. "Well, what now?" said the inspector, gruffly, as Markham was conducted into the office, and led behind the bar, towards the fire.