ose.

This was a large, light apartment at the corner of the house, with
generous window-space in two walls. A broad table stood in the middle.
As one entered by the window the roll-top desk stood just to the left of
it against the wall. The inner door was in the wall to the left, at the
farther end of the room; and was faced by a broad window divided into
openings of the casement type. A beautifully carved old corner-cupboard
rose high against the wall beyond the door, and another cupboard filled
a recess beside the fireplace. Some coloured prints of Harunobu, with
which Trent promised himself a better acquaintance, hung on what
little wall-space was unoccupied by books. These had a very uninspiring
appearance of having been bought by the yard and never taken from
their shelves. Bound with a sober luxury, the great English novelists,
essayists, historians, and poets stood ranged like an army struck dead
in its ranks. There were a few chairs made, like the cupboard and table,
of old carved oak; a modern armchair and a swivel office-chair before
the desk. The room looked costly but very bare. Almost the only portable
objects were a great porcelain bowl of a wonderful blue on the table, a
clock and some cigar boxes on the mantelshelf, and a movable telephone
standard on the top of the desk.

'Seen the body?' enquired the inspector.

Trent nodded. 'And the place where it lay,' he said.

'First impressions of this case rather puzzle me,' said the inspector.
'From what I heard at Halvey I guessed it might be common robbery and
murder by some tramp, though such a thing is very far from common in
these parts. But as soon as I began my enquiries I came on some curious
points, which by this time I dare say you've noted for yourself. The
man is shot in his own grounds, quite near the house, to begin with. Yet
there's not the slightest trace of any attempt at burglary. And the body
wasn't robbed. In fact, it would be as plain a ease of suicide as you
could wish to see, if it wasn't for certain facts. Here's another thing:
for a month or so past, they tell me, Manderson had been in a queer
state of mind. I expect you know already that he and his wife had some
trouble between them. The servants had noticed a change in his manner
to her for a long time, and for the past week he had scarcely spoken to
her. They say he was a changed man, moody and silent--whether on
account of that or something else. The lady's maid says he looked a