"Not with that charge!" I said fervently.
"Well, we won't talk about it now," said Godfrey, smiling at my earnestness. "After the coroner had looked over the ground and got his data, we lugged the body upstairs and examined it. It was that of a man of about fifty, well-preserved, but showing marks of dissipation. The tip of the little finger on his left hand was missing, as Clemley had said. From his complexion, hair, and general appearance I should say that he was undoubtedly an Italian. I've already told you how he was killed."
"And you couldn't identify him."
"No."
"Nothing in his clothes—no letter, or anything of that sort?"
"Not a thing. There was some loose money in the trousers pockets, a knife, a small comb, and a few other odds and ends, but no watch nor pocketbook nor papers. However, I believe there had been. I fancied that the inside pocket of the coat had been turned out and then hastily shoved in again. One of the vest buttons was unbuttoned, and the lower left-hand pocket of the vest certainly showed that a watch had been carried in it."
"You mean these things had been removed?"
"I certainly do."
"But what was the motive of it all?" I demanded desperately.
"I don't know; I can't see clearly; but I'm sure of one thing, and that is that it will lead back to Marcia Lawrence."