"We have no proof that the negro committed the crime, Mr. Fanks," protested Mrs. Boazoph, forgetting her caution for the moment. "There are no marks of violence on the body."
"Of course not," said Fanks, with grim humour. "No doubt the white man died a convenient and natural death, while the negro, for no reason, fled in alarm. I am obliged to you for the suggestion, Mrs. Boazoph. Probably it is as you say."
Not sufficiently clever to see the irony of this remark, Crate looked surprised. But the woman was clearer sighted; and, seeing that she had over-reached herself by saying too much, she relapsed into silence. The detective, feeling that he had scored, smiled grimly, and went on with his examination of the room.
"The body was on the sofa, you say?" he said after a pause.
"Yes; it was tumbled in a heap against the wall."
"And the glasses were on the table?"
"On the table and on the tray."
"Were there any signs of a struggle?"
"Not that I saw, Mr. Fanks."
"Can you describe the appearance of the white man; no, stop, I'll see his body when I go upstairs. What of the black man?"