“Rather a long-drawn scream, or just a sharp utterance?”
“I would say it was rather long—and very loud.”
“You knew at once it was the scream of a man?”
“I thought at first it might be some wild thing—perhaps a panther or a lynx—even a water bird.”
“Yet it must have been a very distressing sound, was it not? Would you say it was a cry of agony or of fear?”
“Both. Yes—I would say it was a cry of both fear and agony.”
“Then what did you do? Tell exactly what happened.”
“We went out to investigate. My other guests ran out the same time.”
“You didn’t see them run out?”
“No, but I met most of them outside. At such times one doesn’t observe closely. We ran down to the shore of the lagoon, at the place we’ve indicated to you, and there we found David Florey, lying dead. There was no one near, and no weapons were lying beside him—at least I didn’t see any. He was lying on his side, and his vest and shirt were torn and wet with blood. Some of us went at once to telephone—Mr. Killdare, Mr. Van Hope, Mr. Nopp and myself. The others began to beat through the garden in search of the murderer.”