CHAPTER III.
THE MUTE SERVITOR.
Meanwhile the man who, to all appearance, had just re-enacted before them the tragedy which had so lately taken place in this room, rose to his feet, and, with a dazed air as unlike his former violent expression as possible, stooped for the glass he had let fall, and was carrying it out when Mr.Gryce called to him: "Wait, man! You needn't take that glass away.

We first want to hear how your master comes to be lying here dead." It was a demand calculated to startle any man.

But this one showed himself totally unmoved by it, and was passing on when Styles laid a detaining hand on his shoulder.
"Stop!" said he.

"What do you mean by sliding off like this?
Don't you hear the gentleman speaking to you ?" This time the appeal told.

The glass fell again from the man's hand, mingling its clink (for it struck the floor this time and broke) with the cry he gave--which was not exactly a cry either, but an odd sound between a moan and a shriek.