"I was awakened by a loud, piercing shriek--a man's shriek of intense horror, it seemed. No one else slept in this wing of the house, or they must certainly have heard it. I roused myself at the unusual sound, for I was thoroughly startled and awakened by it. The clock on my mantelshelf struck two. I waited for some minutes, when I heard a noise which seemed to be below in the library, as though some one were moving about trying the door and hammering upon it. This caused me to wonder, and I held my breath to listen further. I suppose I must have lain like that for fully an hour. It was my intention if I heard anything further to go along to Guy's room. I had, of course, some hesitation in arousing the household. But as I heard nothing further, I suppose I fell asleep, for the sun was shining when I awoke again. I got up, and was crossing to the window to look out when I heard a woman's cry for help. So I rushed out in my pyjamas, and, descending the stairs, found poor Guy lying just here," and he crossed to a spot about four yards from the door, and pointed to the red carpet. "Was the room in any disorder?" I asked. "Not as far as I could see. The shutters yonder were closed and barred, so I opened them and then tried to rouse my friend. But, alas! I saw by the ashen look upon his face that he was already dead. He was still in his dinner-jacket--just as I had left him. Of course you can well imagine the scene and the horror of the servants. Poor Guy--he was one of the very best." "What is your theory, Captain Cardew?" "Theory! Well, I hardly know. I was a fool, and I shall never forgive myself for not raising an alarm when I first heard his shriek. I ought to have known that something was wrong. But there are moments in one's life when one, being awakened suddenly, acts foolishly. It was so with me." CHAPTER TWELVE. THE CRY IN THE NIGHT. "After leaving you at the door of your room he must have returned to the library," I said to Cardew. "Were all the lights out when he came up with you?" "By Jove! No, they were not," he replied. "He didn't turn out the light in the passage here just outside the library door. I have not remembered that point until this moment!" "Did you see any newspaper about?" "Yes, there was one lying near that armchair over there," and he pointed to a big saddle-bag chair in dark green plush, where a large embroidered cushion of pale violet velvet lay crushed and crumpled, just as the unfortunate man had arisen from it. "Then it is probable that after leaving you he made up his mind to return to the library and read his paper as usual," I said. "He did so, and, lighting up again, flung himself into his favourite chair to read." "And while reading, he had the fatal seizure--eh? That, at least, is the theory of the police," the Captain said.