The Circular Study | Page 6

expected this
peaceful figure, urged him in a whisper to have patience, and both,
turning toward the man again, beheld him advance, stop, cast one look
at the figure lying on the floor and then let slip the glass with a low cry
that at once changed to something like a howl.
"Look at him! Look at him!" urged Styles, in a hurried whisper. "Watch
what he will do now. You will see a murderer at work."
And sure enough, in another instant this strange being, losing all
semblance to his former self, entered upon a series of pantomimic
actions which to the two men who watched him seemed both to explain
and illustrate the crime which had just been enacted there.
With every appearance of passion, he stood contemplating the empty
air before him, and then, with one hand held stretched out behind him
in a peculiarly cramped position, he plunged with the other toward a
table from which he made a feint of snatching something which he no
sooner closed his hand upon than he gave a quick side-thrust, still at the
empty air, which seemed to quiver in return, so vigorous was his action
and so evident his intent.
The reaction following this thrust; the slow unclosing of his hand from

an imaginary dagger; the tottering of his body backward; then the
moment when with wide open eyes he seemed to contemplate in horror
the result of his own deed;--these needed no explanation beyond what
was given by his writhing features and trembling body. Gradually
succumbing to the remorse or terror of his own crime, he sank lower
and lower, until, though with that one arm still stretched out, he lay in
an inert heap on the floor.
"It is what I saw him do upstairs," murmured Styles into the ear of the
amazed detective. "He has evidently been driven insane by his own
act."
Mr. Gryce made no answer. Here was a problem for the solution of
which he found no precedent in all his past experience.
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. He had caught sight of the men who were
seeking to detain him, and his haggard look and cringing form showed
that he realized at last the terrors of his position. Next minute he sought
to escape, but Styles, gripping him more firmly, dragged him back to
where Mr. Gryce stood beside the bearskin rug on which lay the form
of his dead master.
Instantly, at the sight of this recumbent figure, another change took
place in the entrapped butler. Joy--that most hellish of passions in the
presence of violence and death--illumined his wandering eye and
distorted his mouth; and, seeking no disguise for the satisfaction he felt,
he uttered a low but thrilling laugh, which rang in unholy echo through
the room.
Mr. Gryce, moved in spite of himself by an abhorrence which the
irresponsible condition of this man seemed only to emphasize, waited
till the last faint sounds of this diabolical mirth had died away in the
high recesses of the space above. Then, fixing the glittering eye of this
strange creature with his own, which, as we know, so seldom dwelt
upon that of his fellow-beings, he sternly said:
"There now! Speak! Who killed this man? You were in the house with
him, and should know."
The butler's lips opened and a string of strange gutturals poured forth,
while with his one disengaged hand (for the other was held to his side
by Styles) he touched his ears and his lips, and violently shook his
head.
There was but one interpretation to be given to this. The man was deaf
and dumb.
The shock of this discovery was too much for Styles. His hand fell