“You still eliminate suicide?”
“I can’t see how I can think it, with no weapon. You say that death was instantaneous—?”
“Yes; the doctors agree that it was. Positively he had no chance to hide or dispose of the instrument of death.”
“And why should he? Suicides never make their death seem a murder, though often a murderer tries to simulate a suicide.”
“Yet that wasn’t done in this case, or the murderer would have left the weapon.”
“That may be the very point he neglected. Now, how did the murderer get out? Get busy, Fibs.”
For nearly half an hour, the three men searched the room. Had there been any secret exit, or any concealed passage, it must have been found. Fleming Stone’s knowledge of architecture would not let him overlook any thing of the sort, and Fibsy’s alert eyes and quick wits would have found anything out of the ordinary.
“No way out,” Stone concluded, finally; “and no way of locking a door or a window after departure from the room. Looks as if the murder theory was as untenable as the other. No chance of a natural death?”
“With a round hole in his jugular vein? No, sir. The doctors here won’t stand for that. Try again.”
“I shall. I don’t know when I’ve had such a baffling, intriguing case, as this appears to be at first sight. It may resolve itself into a simple problem, but I can’t think so now. Even if it were the work of your Miss Austin—how did she get in and out?”