"I heard you say----" "Yes, my lady, it's true," faltered Simcox, wiping the sweat from his face.

"I helped Jenkins carry the Marquess into his bedroom.

If his lordship isn't dead, he's as good as dead." Swiftly, without a moment's hesitation, Miriam went past them to the Marquess's bedroom, thrusting her way through a crowd of horrified, gaping servants.

The Marquess lay on the bed where they had placed him.
The blood had ceased flowing, but it had stained one side of his face, had reddened a greater part of the old-fashioned night-shirt which he wore.

He lay quite still, his eyes closed.