Jervis hastily noted this statement down in his book, still kneeling, and would have asked questions, but there came an interruption.
It was Mrs. Vence who mentioned that a third person was present. "Lawks!" said the old woman, wiping her face with her apron. "Thought you was gone sir."
At the door stood a tall man, arrayed in a fashionable overcoat, with a knitted white silk scarf round his neck and a silk hat in his hand. He had large, powerful limbs, a large nose, a large face, and was large altogether. His hair and beard and moustache were iron-grey, and his eyes were as black as the night outside.
Wondering who he was, Jervis noted that he looked a truculent kind of buccaneer, and rose to confront him, thereby revealing the body on the hearthrug.
The newcomer at the door uttered a startled ejaculation, scarcely scriptural, and strode forward in quite a masterful way. He looked at the dead man aghast, then turned towards the policeman with an indignant expression, as if he suspected him of being the culprit. "What does this mean?" demanded the buccaneer, fiercely, and pointed to the corpse with a silver-headed cane which he held in his hand.
"Sir Hector Wyke has been stabbed, as you see, sir," said Jervis, curtly.
"Good heavens!" cried the stranger. "My poor friend."
"Was Sir Hector your friend, sir?" The gentleman nodded. "I came here to see him, and hoped that he would give me a bed for the night. Dead. Stabbed! Who killed him?"
"The other gent as come," chimed in Mrs. Vence, promptly; "and a murdering villain he is, sir. Clever too; seeing as he's got away on the postman's bike."
"Do you know anything about him?" asked Jervis, sharply.