and I warn
you, Mr. Wardrop, to be careful what you say. Will you ask Doctor Gray
to come in, Mr. Knox?"

I went across the hall to the room where the noise was loudest.
Fortunately, Doctor Gray was out of the game. He was opening a can of
caviar at a table in the corner and came out in response to a gesture.
He did not ask any questions, and I let him go into the death chamber
unprepared. The presence of death apparently had no effect on him, but
the identity of the dead man almost stupefied him.

"Fleming!" he said, awed, as he looked down at the body. "Fleming, by
all that's sacred! And a suicide!"

Hunter watched him grimly.

"How long has he been dead?" he asked.

The doctor glanced at the bullet wound in the forehead, and from there
significantly to the group around the couch.

"Not an hour--probably less than half," he said. "It's strange we heard
nothing, across the hall there."

Hunter took a clean folded handkerchief from his pocket and opening it
laid it gently over the dead face. I think it was a relief to all of us.
The doctor got up from his kneeling posture beside the couch, and
looked at Hunter inquiringly.

"What about getting him away from here?" he said. "There is sure to be a
lot of noise about it, and--you remember what happened when Butler
killed himself here."

"He was reported as being found dead in the lumber yard," Hunter said
dryly. "Well, Doctor, this body stays where it is, and I don't give a
whoop if the whole city government wants it moved. It won't be. This is
murder, not suicide."

The doctor's expression was curious.

"Murder!" he repeated. "Why--who--"

But Hunter had many things to attend to; he broke in ruthlessly on the
doctor's amazement.

"See if you can get the house empty, Doctor; just tell them he is
dead--the story will get out soon enough."

As the doctor left the room Hunter went to the open window, through
which a fresh burst of rain was coming, and closed it. The window gave
me an idea, and I went over and tried to see through the streaming pane.
There was no shed or low building outside, but not five yards away the
warehouse showed its ugly walls and broken windows.

"Look here, Hunter," I said, "why could he not have been shot from the
warehouse?"

"He could have been--but he wasn't," Hunter affirmed, glancing at
Wardrop's drooping figure. "Mr. Wardrop, I am going to send for the
coroner, and then I shall ask you to go with me to the office and tell