Just as I was finishing my reflections and my breakfast, Dickson, one of the last joined subalterns, came in.
"This is very awful," he said, so gravely that I turned to look at him.
"What is awful ?" "Don't you know ?" he replied.

"Haven't you heard about--Sir John--last night ?" "Dead ?" I asked.
He nodded; and then he said-- "Murdered in the night! Cathcart heard a noise and went in, and stumbled over him on the floor.

As he came in he saw the lamp knocked over, and a figure rush out through the veranda.

The moon was bright, and he saw a man run across a clear space in the moonlight--a tall, slightly built man in native dress, but not a native, Cathcart said; that he would take his oath on, by his build.

He roused the house, but the man got clean off, of course." "And Sir John ?" "Sir John was quite dead when Cathcart got back to him.