Sergeant Smith staggered back a pace.
"Good God!" he said. "Minute murdered? Then he did it! The young devil did it!"
"Come and have a look," invited Wiseman, recovering his balance. "I've got his nephew."
"No, no! I don't want to see John Minute dead! You go back. I'll bring another constable and a doctor."
He stumbled blindly along the drive into the road, and Constable Wiseman went back to the house. Frank was where he had left him, save that he had seated himself and was gazing steadfastly upon the dead man. He looked up as the policeman entered.
"What have you done?" he asked.
"The sergeant's gone for a doctor and another constable," said Wiseman gravely.
"I'm afraid they will be too late," said Frank. "He is—What's that?"
There was a distant hammering and a faint voice calling for help.
"What's that?" whispered Frank again.