"Murdered!" he repeated, as though seeking to assure himself of the truth of the butler's statement by a repetition of the word.
"Yes.

She was shot in her bedroom a little while ago while the other guests were at dinner.

You must come at once." Sergeant Lumbe laid his pipe on the table with a trembling hand.

He was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the catastrophe, and hardly knew what to do.

His previous experience of crime was confined to an occasional arrest of the village drunkard, who invariably went with him confidingly.