at is the mark of a blow on the arm. There is this
wound on the chin, and on the neck. Hah! Yes, this seems more likely.
There has been a tremendous blow dealt here on the head--but no
fracture, I think--sort of blow a life-preserver would give; but,
really, I cannot account so far for his death. Unless--What is this
peculiar odour?"

"I told you," said Capel, pointing to the bed.

"No, I don't mean that," said the doctor quickly. "I mean this about
here. Can you see any bottle?"

He ran his hand down the side of the silk robe, and then looked round
where he knelt.

"What do you mean, doctor?" said Mr Girtle.

"There is the same odour that I should expect to notice in a case of
suicide with poison."

"Doesn't look much like that," said Artis. "Why, doctor, look at the
traces of the struggle."

"I have looked at them, sir," replied the doctor; "but, so far, I detect
no cause for death. A proper examination may give different results,
but I must have the assistance of a colleague."

"Done, sir? Finished?" said the constable, who had remained for the
time unnoticed.

"Yes, my man. You will give notice of this at once, and lock up the
room."

"All in good time, sir. I should like a look round. Door open, you
say?"

"Yes," said Mr Girtle.

"Window open?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, the fellow who did it seems to have come in here and
escaped there, after getting a cut with that crooked knife."

He turned on his bull's-eye lantern, and made the light play from where
the body lay, over the Turkey carpet, to the window, where he turned off
the light, for there was sufficient for him to see and examine the seat
and sill.

No stains--no marks of hands on the window, no footmarks outside on the
leads--not a spot.

He shook his head, and came back.

"Well, my man?" said Mr Girtle.

"Don't be in a hurry, sir. Law moves slow and sure. I was in the
country before I got out of the rural into the metropolitan."

"What has that to do with this?" cried Artis.

"Everything, sir," said the constable, turning sharply on the young man,
and watching him narrowly. "I've known cases where windows have been
set open to make it seem that some one's gone through."

"But the murderer is not in the house," said Mr Girtle, uneasily; "and
we suspect--"

"Who's that?" said the constable, sharply. "Oh, you, Mr Butler."

"Yes; I've brought the brandy for Mr Girtle, sir."

"Never mind, now," said the policeman.