Henry noticed that Sir Walter spoke almost spitefully.
"Well, at any rate, he thought rather small beer of the Grey Room.He felt quite sure that the secret lay outside it.He was going to exhaust the possibilities of the place in no time."As he spoke the gong sounded, and Prince, pricking his ears, led the way to the open French window of the dining-room.
"Call our friend, Henry," said his uncle.And young Lennox, glad of the opportunity, entered the house.He desired a word with Hardcastle in private, and ascended to join him.
The door of the Grey Room was still closed, and Henry found some obstacle within that prevented it from yielding to his hand.At once disturbed by this incident, he did not stand upon ceremony.He pushed the door, which gave before him, and he perceived that a heavy chair had been thrust against it.His noisy entrance challenged no response, and, looking round, it appeared for an instant that the room was empty; but, lowering his eyes, he saw first the detective's open notebook and stylograph lying upon the ground, then he discovered Peter Hardcastle himself upon his face with his arms stretched out before him.He lay beside the hearth, motionless.
Lennox stooped, supported, and turned him over.He was still warm and relaxed in every limb, but quite unconscious and apparently dead.An expression of surprise marked his face, and the corner of each open eye had not yet lost its lustre, but the pupil was much dilated.