“That’s just the point,” Mason said, taking her elbow as he assisted her up the stairs, switching on a light in the hallway. “Twenty years is a long time to make an unsuccessful search for a man. The probabilities are that, following the episode in 1921, Karr didn’t think very much about Hocksley until the present situation in the Orient started a renewal of his activities. Well, we’ll take a look around and see what we can find. Take this bedroom on the left, Della. Switch on the lights, look through the bureau drawers. Find out everything you can about the person or persons who live here. I’ll take this bedroom on the right.”
Mason opened the door, switched on the lights, then suddenly stood stock still.
Della Street, looking back over her shoulder from the other bedroom, sensed the rigidity of his attitude. “What is it, Chief?” she asked.
Mason motioned her back. “Don’t come in.”
But she came to peer over his shoulder, then recoiled with a quick gasping intake of her breath.
A man’s body lay sprawled half on and half off the bed, his head dangling limply downward, his face the greenish livid hue of death. From a bullet hole in his chest, blood had welled out to soak the bedspread and form in a pool on the floor. It was the body of the Gentrie’s roomer, Delman Steele.
Chapter 16
Della Street gripped Mason’s arm. In her nervousness, she poured all of her strength into her fingers. “Don’t — don’t—”
Mason pried loose her cold fingers. “Stand there, Della. Don’t come in the room. Don’t touch anything.”
“Chief, keep out of this! Don’t. Please, don’t! I...”