As he came down the drive and approached the old red-brick front of the house, there was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms, and from distant lawns the whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds.... And in the hall a man was banging at a locked door, and shouting, “Open the _door_, I say; open the _door!_” “Hallo!” said Antony in amazement. CHAPTER III. Two Men and a Body Cayley looked round suddenly at the voice. “Can I help?” said Antony politely. “Something’s happened,” said Cayley. He was breathing quickly. “I heard a shot—it sounded like a shot—I was in the library. A loud bang—I didn’t know what it was. And the door’s locked.” He rattled the handle again, and shook it. “Open the _door!_” he cried. “I say, Mark, what is it? Open the door!” “But he must have locked the door on purpose,” said Antony. “So why should he open it just because you ask him to?” Cayley looked at him in a bewildered way. Then he turned to the door again. “We must break it in,” he said, putting his shoulder to it. “Help me.” “Isn’t there a window?” Cayley turned to him stupidly. “Window? Window?” “So much easier to break in a window,” said Antony with a smile. He looked very cool and collected, as he stood just inside the hall, leaning on his stick, and thinking, no doubt, that a great deal of fuss was being made about nothing. But then, he had not heard the shot. “Window—of course! What an idiot I am.” He pushed past Antony, and began running out into the drive. Antony followed him. They ran along the front of the house, down a path to the left, and then to the left again over the grass, Cayley in front, the other close behind him. Suddenly Cayley looked over his shoulder and pulled up short. “Here,” he said. They had come to the windows of the locked room, French windows which opened on to the lawns at the back of the house. But now they were closed. Antony couldn’t help feeling a thrill of excitement as he followed Cayley’s example, and put his face close up to the glass. For the first time he wondered if there really _had_ been a revolver shot in this mysterious room. It had all seemed so absurd and melodramatic from the other side of the door. But if there had been one shot, why should there not be two more?—at the careless fools who were pressing their noses against the panes, and asking for it. “My God, can you see it?” said Cayley in a shaking voice. “Down there. Look!” The next moment Antony saw it. A man was lying on the floor at the far end of the room, his back towards them. A man? Or the body of a man? “Who is it?” said Antony. “I don’t know,” the other whispered. “Well, we’d better go and see.” He considered the windows for a moment. “I should think, if you put your weight into it, just where they join, they’ll give all right. Otherwise, we can kick the glass in.”