"Of course, it is just as you wish, Chief Inspector. I will lead the way," said Pershore, suiting the action to the word. "Sergeant Bromley arrived shortly before yourself, and is engaged in photographing any finger-prints in the room which may have a bearing on the crime, but nothing, I need hardly say, has been touched since I was called in, and arrived at 11.53 pm'
Since it would have been extremely improper for anything to have been touched before the arrival of a representative of Scotland Yard, this unnecessary assurance exasperated the Chief Inspector. He cast a fulminating look at Inspector Pershore's back, but was interrupted before he could utter the words trembling on his tongue.
"Whisht, now, whisht!" said Inspector Alexander Grant soothingly.
"I don't say you're not right," retorted Hemingway, "but if you're telling me to shut up, which I think you are, I'll put in an adverse report about you, my lad!"
The Inspector smiled in the way that gave him an odd resemblance to one of the shy stags of his own Highlands, and said no more. They had by this time mounted the stairs to the half-landing. Inspector Pershore opened the door into Mrs. Haddington's sitting-room, and stood aside for Hemingway to enter.
There were several people in the room. All that remained of Dan Seaton-Carew was seated in the chair beside the telephone-table in the angle between the door and the first of the two long, curtained windows, his face most horribly distorted, and with two strands of picturewire protruding at the back of his neck. His head had fallen forward on his breast; both his arms hung slackly beside him; one leg was stuck stiffly out before him, its foot under the fragile table which held the telephone; the other bent, so that its foot was against the leg of the chair.
The Chief Inspector observed him without blenching, glanced round the room, and said cheerfully: "Evening! No, I mean, good-morning! How's the kid, Tom?"
The photographer grinned at him. "Going on fine, sir, thank you. Out of quarantine this week."
"That's good." Hemingway turned from him, and surveyed the still figure in the chair. "Well, well!" he said, scrutinising every detail. "The things people will get up to!"
He spoke in an absent tone, and all but one of his subordinates waited in respectful silence, well-aware that whatever inanities he might utter, his quick brain was anything but inane.