"It has not been touched?" he questioned of the policeman.
"No, Monsieur."
He walked around the corpse dictating quickly to the man with the note-book and then drew the knife from the wound. It was a two-edged affair at least six inches in length, a weapon evidently intended for just such a deadly business.
"He was struck below the left arm and from behind," Piquette heard him dictate, "the direction of the weapon in the body indicating without the possibility of a doubt that the wound was not self-inflicted. A case of murder," he finished, looking up at Horton, who had followed his motions with intense interest.
Then he moved the body so that it lay flat upon the floor, throwing a pocket light full upon the face, starting back in amazement.
"Monsieur!" he gasped to Horton, and then threw the light suddenly into Jim Horton's face.
"Monsieur Horton, did you know——?"
"It is my brother," said Jim quietly.
"Nom d'un chien! I could swear it was yourself."
"My twin brother, Monsieur," repeated Horton.