Anthony looked at his watch.
“I should have liked to commence my little investigations at this end. But I suppose I can’t—I must get down to Assynton to see Stewart—that’s evident—there’s a train at Paddington at five minutes to seven. That will get us down before nine. I’ll meet you on the platform, Daventry.”
“Right!” declared Peter, “6:55 then.”
“Yes—and Daventry—I think you’d better bring a revolver.”
CHAPTER V.
The Assynton Lodge Murder
Sergeant Clegg assumed an air of profound sagacity, which did not altogether become him too well. At the moment he was a prey to conflicting emotions. A police-officer’s career in an obscure Berkshire village doesn’t get too many chances for personal “spot-light.” And although he felt that his big chance had come, he had a nasty feeling somewhere at the back of his mind that the case was going to prove too big. However, he turned to the son of the murdered man and to the Doctor who had accompanied him into the library and made his preliminary announcement—importantly!
“Nothing in here must be touched. Nothing—whatever.”
“Nothing has been disturbed, Sergeant Clegg. Doctor Gunner arrived only a few minutes in front of you.”
“That’s all right, then, Mr. Stewart! You might make your examination, Doctor, with as little disturbance of the corpse as possible—will you? I haven’t got a photographer handy—that business will have to come later.”
The murdered man was seated in a chair at his desk—the cause of death being painfully visible to all. He had received a heavy blow or blows from behind—the back of his skull was smashed like an egg-shell. He had apparently been in the act of writing when killed—for his pen had almost entirely fallen from his grasp—the butt being just retained between thumb and forefinger. He was dressed in a dark-blue dressing-gown and on his feet were bedroom slippers. The dressing-gown had been put on over his pajama sleeping suit and he gave every appearance of having come downstairs from his bedroom. The doctor busied himself for a few moments over his gruesome task. Meanwhile the Sergeant turned to the young man who found himself so suddenly bereaved. He cleared his throat—twice.