"Slung over his shoulder," I answered, "and then..."
But the doctor had stopped short, and was staring at the house, while, once again, every vestige of colour had left his face.
"My God!" he muttered, "there's a light in the room.... A light, man; don't you see it?"
"I left the candles burning," I said, impatiently. "Really, doctor, I suppose murder doesn't often come your way, but..."
I walked on quickly and he followed. Really the fuss was getting on my nerves, already distinctly ragged. The front door was open as I had left it, and I paused for a moment in the cobwebby hall. Then, pulling myself together, I stepped into the room where the body lay, to halt and stare open-mouthed at the floor....
The candles still flickered on the mantelpiece; the furniture was as I had left it; but of the body of John Trelawnay there was not a trace. It had vanished utterly and completely.
"I don't understand, doctor," I muttered foolishly. "I left the body lying there."
The doctor stood at the door beside me, and suddenly I realized that his eyes were fixed on me.
"I know," he said, and his voice was grave and solemn. "With the head near that chair."
"Why, how do you know?" I cried, amazed. "Have you taken the body away?"