Paget stood silently by, his cigarette holder in his hand.
The physician raised his head and turned to the waiting group. He scarcely seemed to see them or to observe their apprehension. His lips quivered as though he wished to speak but could not utter words.
Then, suddenly, he regained his voice and spoke. Slowly uttered, his words carried the grief of a friend mingled with the announcement of the professional physician.
“Henry Marchand is dead!”
CHAPTER II. THE HOLLOW NEEDLE
THE body of Henry Marchand had been removed, otherwise the room was the same. Its antiquated lights still cast their ghoulish gleam upon the scene.
Beyond the door through which the four men had forced their way, a dim hall light revealed a short, dark-visaged man who seemed to be awaiting some one. This was Detective Joe Cardona, of the New York police.
Footsteps came from the stairway. The detective became alert. He raised his hand in greeting to a tall, broad-shouldered individual who arrived at the top of the stairs.
The newcomer was Cardona’s superior, Inspector Timothy Klein.
The two men entered the room. In brief, matter-of-fact tones, Cardona gave the circumstances of Henry Marchand’s death. Then he pointed to the open drawer in the top of the desk. He removed the envelope from the drawer, and extracted a folded paper.