“Hold on a minute. Was the body lying just like this, face upturned, when you saw it first?”
Storm nodded.
“Yes. I rushed to her and started to lift her up, but when I saw that—that she was dead——”
He bowed his head on his breast as if unable to continue, but he saw the physician measure with a swift eye the distance from the chair to the body, and then stoop to examine the fender again. Storm’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair-arms in an agony of suspense. Would his implied suggestion bear fruit? Had he too palpably ignored the other’s intimation that a blow had been struck? Would it have been more natural for him to have presupposed violence, murder, as the physician obviously had done? It was too late now for him to question the wisdom of his course; he could brace himself for the next step in the ghastly farce.
“Has anyone touched the body?” Dr. Carr spoke with professional brusqueness.
“Yes; when I came back here after telephoning to you both the servants were in the room, and Ellen was bending over my poor wife—I can’t speak of it, Doctor; I can’t realize it! I feel as if I should go mad! Leila——”
“I know, old man, but we’ve got to get at the bottom of this thing. Try to collect yourself and think back. You said you were awakened by the housemaid’s screams when she discovered the body. Do you know if she touched it before you got down here?”
Storm shook his head.
“I never asked.” He kept his eyes lowered carefully to hide a glint of triumph. When Carr discovered that Agnes had found the body lying face down, the case he had manufactured would be complete. “I wish you—you’d talk to them, Doctor. I—I can’t, just now. I’m all in!”
“I will. Don’t think about them.” Dr. Carr glanced at the low light on the desk which still glowed brazenly in the gloom of the curtained room. “Who turned on that light instead of drawing aside the curtains?”