"No, no—not at present. When it has been removed to the dead-house I will see to a further examination. I have seen the body before rigor mortis has set in, so that is all that is necessary. The man has been stabbed some time between ten and eleven, and he is as dead as a coffin nail." Thornton drew on his gloves. "Good-night!"
"Good-night," replied the Inspector. "Allow me to see you to the door." And he conducted both the medical men out of the room, leaving Prelice alone with his still dazed friend.
But Shepworth was not so dazed as he pretended to be, for the moment the door was closed he sprang to his feet. "Dorry, Dorry," he gasped, swaying, "the knife—look for the knife!" Then he dropped back again in the chair, too weak to stand.
"What do you mean?" demanded Prelice sharply, and much puzzled.
Shepworth clutched him. "I did not tell all," he stuttered hurriedly; "it would not have done to tell all. Listen, Dorry. Agstone came back again alone—alone, I tell you—before he brought the lady. I was still conscious, although unable to move in any way. He held the knife in his hand—the jade-handled paper-cutter with which Sir Oliver was murdered. I had it, as you know; it was concealed in my desk—in my study. Agstone must have found it. Agstone must have used it. No! Agstone is dead. I forgot. But someone must have used it to kill Agstone. Oh, my head, my head!" He grasped his hair, and rocked to and fro; then with an effort: "Look for the knife—under the table perhaps—under the——"
Before he could end the sentence Prelice, realising its importance, sprang forward, and lifted a corner of the tablecloth, which trailed on the ground. At the same instant Inspector Bruge appeared again, unexpectedly. His keen eyes immediately fixed themselves on Prelice.
"What are you doing, my lord?" he asked imperatively.
"Making a search," retorted the other bluffly. He did not know what else to say, and hoped that his ready and natural explanation would lull any newly aroused suspicions entertained by the officer.
It did to a certain extent. "You must allow us to do that, my lord. I think you had better take Mr. Shepworth to his bed. And we may as well cover this thing until it is taken away," added Bruge, gathering up the folds of the tablecloth to lay them over the stark-dead creature staring at the ceiling.
Shepworth moved at the same moment as Bruge; but Prelice, guessing that he wished to interfere, held him down with an iron grasp.