“We found it locked.”
“Then it must have been locked from inside,” returned the other, who appeared to be pursuing some hidden train of thought. “But where’s the key? I do not see it in the door. Oh, here it is!” He stooped swiftly and picked up a key from the floor. “Robert must have taken it out after locking the door.”
“Perhaps it fell out when we were breaking in the door,” observed the doctor.
“Of course. I forgot that. I notice that the clock is stopped at half-past nine.” He bent down to examine it. “My brother kept private papers in the clock-case,” he added. “Yes—it is as I thought. Here are some private documents, including his will. I had better take charge of them.”
“Yes; I should if I were you,” counselled his companion.
Austin rose to his feet and placed the papers in his pocket.
“It is plain to me—now—how it happened,” he said. “Poor Robert must have shot himself, then tried to get his will from the clock-case when he fell, bringing down the clock with him.”
“Is that what you think?” said Dr. Ravenshaw.
“I see no other way of looking at it,” returned Austin rapidly. “The door was locked on the inside, and the room couldn’t be reached from the window. This house stands almost on the edge of the cliff, which is nearly two hundred feet high. My feeling is that after my poor brother shot himself he remembered in his dying moments that his will was hidden in the clock-case and might not be found. He made a desperate effort to reach it and dragged it down as he fell.”
The doctor listened attentively to this imaginary picture of Robert Turold’s last moments.