ladder to peer into the room. He could see all sorts of things, for he was frightened.
“I say there!” he called loudly.
Beatrice stood below in horrible suspense.
“Go in!” she cried. “Go in! Is he there?”
The man stepped very cautiously with one foot on to the balcony, and peered forward. But the glass door reflected into his eyes. He followed slowly with the other foot, and crept forward, ready at any moment to take flight.
“Hie, hie!” he suddenly cried in terror, and he drew back.
Beatrice was opening her mouth to scream, when the window-cleaner exclaimed weakly, as if dubious:
“I believe ’e’s ’anged ’imself from the door-’ooks!”
“No!” cried Beatrice. “No, no, no!”
“I believe ’e ’as!” repeated the man.
“Go in and see if he’s dead!” cried Beatrice.
The man remained in the doorway, peering fixedly.
“I believe he is,” he said doubtfully.
“No—go and see!” screamed Beatrice.
The man went into the room, trembling, hesitating. He approached the body as if fascinated. Shivering, he took it round the loins and tried to lift it down. It was too heavy.
“I know!” he said to himself, once more bustling now he had something to do. He took his clasp-knife from his pocket, jammed the body between himself and the door so that it should not drop, and began to saw his way through the leathern strap. It gave. He started, and clutched the body, dropping his knife. Beatrice, below in the garden, hearing the scuffle and the clatter, began to scream in hysteria. The man
