“So far as I can see, it was motiveless,” McManus answered. “I can only conclude that it was the work of a lunatic, or a mere murder fiend. It was, in my opinion, merely an accident that it was Mr. Wing and not some one else.”
“I hadn’t thought of that aspect of the case,” Trafford said. “Is there any unfortunate creature of that kind about here?”
“No, not that I know of; but might it not be a stranger that has wandered here?”
“Did you ever hear of one of that class that was content with mere killing? It’s mutilation that characterises all such crimes. Its absence in this case is one of the most prominent features. By the bye: was the night of the tenth windy?”
“On the contrary, it was a very still night.”
“Not wind enough to blow that door shut?” pointing to the door into the side hall.
“Certainly not.”
Trafford walked around to the different windows and finally pulled down the shades and placed the lamp on the writing-desk. Then he went outside and studied the reflection on the shades. When he returned, he said:
“I shall be absent a few days. Will you see to it, Mr. McManus, that the coroner doesn’t reconvene the inquest until I can be here? Until we find a motive for this crime, we’re going to make slow headway in finding the criminal.”
“So long as you have charge of the case,” McManus answered, “I shall follow your wishes; but you may as well understand that I’m not going to be content with failure on any one’s part. You’re after the pay; I’m after punishment for the murderer. As long as our wishes run in the same line——”