“Nobody actively disliked him?”
“Nobody knew him well enough for that—unless—well, no, I may say none of us knew him.”
“Yet you hesitated,” the doctor looked at him keenly; “why did you?”
“A mere passing thought—better left unspoken.”
“All right, Mr Mansfield—perhaps you are wise. But, if asked to, you’d better speak your thought to the police.”
“Oh, sure. I’m a law-abiding citizen—I hope. Will they be here soon?”
“Nothing happens soon in matters like this. It’s delay, linger and wait on the part of everybody. I’m bothered—I’ve important affairs on hand—but here I must stick, till the arm of the law gets ready to strike.”
Davenport returned to Gleason’s apartment, where the stolid Chris kept guard.
“Well?” said the doctor, glancing at his man.
“Looks like a suicide to me, sir. Looks like he shot himself—there’s the revolver—I haven’t touched it. And then he fell over all in a heap.”