The arm he gripped felt rigid and cold, but Stratton made no movement, no sign, and at that moment they saw the sergeant flash the light down into the sarcophagus-like receptacle; for, thanks to the manufacturers, our baths are made as suggestive of a man’s last resting-place as they can be designed.
There was utter silence then for a moment. Then the sergeant uttered a low whistle and exclaimed:
“Well, I am blessed!”
“Ain’t he there?” said the workman, from the door.
“Come and look, Jem.”
Jem went in slowly, looked down in the bath, which was lit up by the rays from the lantern, and then uttered a low, chuckling sound, while Guest tried to make out the meaning of the strange expression, dimly seen, on his friend’s face.
For Stratton’s eyes showed white circles about the irises, as he now leaned forward to gaze into the bath.
Guest was the last to look into the white enamelled vessel, one-third full of what seemed to be water, but from the peculiar odour which rose from the surface, evidently was not.
Stratton was silent; and in the strange exultation he felt on seeing that all the horrors he had imagined were vain and empty, Guest shouted:
“Bah! What cock-and-bull stories you policemen hatch!”