He met not a soul until he had passed the Merriams’ house. Then, as he neared the town, dark, straggling figures of workmen passed him, trudging on sleepily through the snow and darkness. The hall porter was just opening the great outer door of the mansion when he arrived. “Cold morning, sir,” said the porter. “Bitter,” he replied, mechanically, and he sprang up the stone stairs. CHAPTER IX He threw off his dress clothes with the repulsion that every man feels for such garments after an all-night sitting. He was tired out, capable only of attending to the trivial and personal things that immediately concerned him; thanked God, with the fervour which the average man expresses for none but the trifling mercies of Providence, that no case compelled his attendance in court at ten o’clock; stretched himself, yawned, stumbled shiveringly into bed, where, drawing the bedclothes tightly around him, he sank at once into the heavy sleep of the weary man. A confused sound broke upon his slumbers. In a waking dream it seemed to him that Minna was battering with a hammer at some formless material object which his mind identified as marriage. He awoke to find the noise that of knocking at his door. In reality, he had slept some hours, but he was conscious of only a few minutes’ repose. He called out angrily to be left alone. The knocking continued. He called out again. Then a strange voice was heard “Can I see you for a minute, sir?” Exasperated, he jumped out of bed and opened the door. “What the devil is it?” He recoiled in some astonishment at the sight of Israel Hart’s butler, Samuels. The man looked greasy, unkempt, agitated. Behind him flashed the retreating figure of Mrs. Parsons, the porter’s wife. “Come in, if you want to speak to me,” said Hugh, for the cold draught was sweeping down the passage through the open flat-door. Samuels obeyed. “An awful thing, sir. I think you had better come round at once. My master was murdered during the night.” If he had suddenly received a blow from a life-preserver, Hugh could not have been, for the moment, more stunned and dazed. “Murdered--your master--last night?” He stared at the man. It was inconceivable. The incredible horror of it was that he had passed the night, keenly awake, in the house. Israel Hart murdered, a few yards away from him, without uttering a cry, giving out a sound in the death-struggle--it passed realisation. “Yes, sir, in his study,” said the butler with tears in his eyes and with quivering lips. “The housemaid found him at a quarter to seven this morning.” “How did it happen?” “Someone hit him with something heavy--just over here.” The man passed his hand upwards from his temple to his skull. “It has been terrible work this morning,” he added, with a shiver. The first shock over, Hugh recovered his balance. “I will come with you at once. Tell me the details while I dress.”