The young man started back in horror.—“Murdered, and in this house—How, when?”
“Presumably the night before last.”
Was it my imagination, or did Mr. Atkins turn slightly pale? “Tuesday night,” he muttered. After a brief silence he turned to us, and withdrawing his eyes from the corpse with obvious difficulty, said, in a hearty, matter-of-fact voice: “Gentlemen, I regret that I have to leave you. I should like to hear some more of this affair, but I suppose if you do discover anything you will keep it pretty close?”
“You bet we’ll try to,” the Coroner assured him. After shaking us all most cordially by the hand, Mr. Atkins departed, and was escorted down-stairs by the detective, whose excessive politeness seemed to me very suspicious. “Was he going to put a sleuth on the young man’s tracks?” I wondered.
The air in the room was heavy with the odour of death, so I stepped out on the landing. The workmen were all talking in low tones. “I know that Frenchman did it; I know it,” I overheard one of them say. Much excited by these words, I was just going to ask who the Frenchman was, and why he should be suspected, when Mr. Merritt stepped out of the elevator and rang the bell of the opposite apartment. Miss Derwent had evidently not been far off, for the door was opened almost immediately, and a tall, slight young figure stood on the threshold. She was dressed in a quiet travelling suit, and a thick brown veil pulled down over her face rendered her features, in the dim light of the landing, completely invisible.
“Miss Derwent?” inquired Mr. Merritt. She bowed. “You have no doubt been told,” he continued, “that a very serious accident has occurred in the building.” She inclined her head slowly. “As we have been unable to identify the corpse”—here the detective paused, but she gave no sign and he went on—“we are asking every one in the house to take a look at it.”
Instead of answering, the girl went back into the apartment, but returned in a minute, carrying a handbag. Stepping out on to the landing she shut and locked the door behind her with apparent composure. As she turned to follow the detective she asked, in a low but distinct voice: “How did this accident occur?”
“That, we have not yet been able to ascertain,” he replied, leading her to the room where the dead lay. I hastily stepped back and resumed my former position at the foot of the corpse. As the girl crossed the threshold she hesitated a moment, then walked steadily in.
“Miss May Derwent, I believe?” the Coroner inquired, in his suavest tones. Again she bowed assent.
“Please look at this man and tell me if you have ever seen him before.” Before replying, the girl slowly lifted her veil and revealed to my astonished eyes, not only a face of very unusual beauty, but—and this is what I found inexplicable—coils of golden hair! Where were the raven locks I had seen only a few hours before? Had I dreamed them? But no, my memory was too clear on this point. My surprise was so great that I am afraid I showed it, for I caught Mr. Merritt looking at me with one of his enigmatical smiles. Miss Derwent was excessively pale, with heavy black rings under her eyes, but otherwise she seemed perfectly composed. She looked at the corpse a moment, then turning towards the Coroner, said, in a clear, steady voice: “I do not know the man.”