Unable to go farther, I sat limply down upon a box and looked at them.
I dare say the figure I made was ridiculous enough, for the screams gave place to subdued giggles; but I was far from thinking of my appearance, or of caring what impression I produced. And I was still sitting there when Godfrey came back, breathing heavily, chagrin and anger in his eyes. The employes of the laundry, conscious that something extraordinary was occurring, crowded about him, but he elbowed his way through them to the desk where the manager sat.
"A crime has been committed upstairs," he said. "This gentleman with me is Mr. Simmonds, of the detective bureau," and at the words Simmonds showed his shield. "We shall have to notify headquarters," Godfrey went on, "and I would advise that you keep your girls at their work. I don't suppose you want to be mixed up in it."
"Sure not," agreed the manager promptly, and while Simmonds went to the 'phone and called up police headquarters, the manager dismounted from his throne, went down among the girls, and had them back at their work in short order.
Godfrey came over to me and laid his hand on my shoulder.
"Why, Lester," he said, "you look as though you were at your last gasp."
"I am," I said. "I'm going to have nervous prostration if this thing keeps up. You're not looking particularly happy yourself."
"I'm not happy. I've let that fellow kill a man right under my nose —literally, under my nose!—and then get away!"
"Kill a man?" I repeated. "Do you mean…."
"Go upstairs and look at the right hand of the man lying there," said
Godfrey, curtly, "and you'll see what I mean!"