“Found anything?” Bardin asked.
“Some slugs, nothing else. No finger-prints that aren’t accounted for. It’s my guess the killer just walked in, shot down everyone in sight and then walked out again without touching a thing.”
Paul wandered to the foot of the broad staircase and stood looking up at it. At the head of the stairs lay the body of a young Chinese girl. She was wearing a yellow house-coat and dark blue silk embroidered trousers. A red stain made an ugly patch in the middle of her shoulder blades.
“Looks like she was running for cover when she was shot,” Bardin said. “Want to go up and look at her?”
Conrad shook his head.
“Exhibit number four is in the lounge,” Bardin said, and led the way into a lavishly furnished room with leather settees and armchairs that afforded sitting room for thirty or forty people.
In the centre of the room was a large fountain on which played coloured lights, and in its illuminated bowl tropical fish added their charm to the effect.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Bardin said dryly. “You should see my sitting-room, Paul. I must tell my wife about the fish. They might give her ideas: she could do with a few.”
Conrad moved farther into the room. By the casement windows leading to the garden, June Arnot’s butler sat huddled up on the floor, his back resting against the tapestry wall. He had been shot through the head.
“Spoilt the tapestry,” Bardin said. “Pity. I bet that stuff costs a whale of a lot of dough.” He dropped his cigarette into an ash-bowl, went on, “Want to see the kitchens? There are two more of them in there, a chink cook and a Filipino. They were both running for the exit, but neither of them ran fast enough.”