He ran his hand down the side of the silk robe, and then looked round where he knelt.
“What do you mean, doctor?” said Mr Girtle.
“There is the same odour that I should expect to notice in a case of suicide with poison.”
“Doesn’t look much like that,” said Artis. “Why, doctor, look at the traces of the struggle.”
“I have looked at them, sir,” replied the doctor; “but, so far, I detect no cause for death. A proper examination may give different results, but I must have the assistance of a colleague.”
“Done, sir? Finished?” said the constable, who had remained for the time unnoticed.
“Yes, my man. You will give notice of this at once, and lock up the room.”
“All in good time, sir. I should like a look round. Door open, you say?”
“Yes,” said Mr Girtle.
“Window open?”