“Not Belknap, sweetheart. Never Belknap. He has the fanatic’s eye and it doesn’t appeal to me. Perhaps Berry, sometime. I rather cotton to Berry. But for the nonce I hunt alone. I might accomplish miracles with a dash of luck. You must realize I have a deductive mind—as well as a seductive, darling.”
“Please— Don’t. I can’t play with you. We must go—”
Go where was settled on the instant by what Julian would have sworn were two shots in rapid succession, which rang out in the interior of the house. Two policemen, guns in hand, breath shortening, came scuttling around opposite corners of the house.
“Prisoner’s Base or Run Sheep Run?” asked Julian delightedly. “Or just plain catch-as-catch-can?” he added, springing ahead of them into the library. Nadia sat alone in the room—with Blake’s body almost at her feet. Her head lay back on the divan top. A lighted cigarette hung between very red lips. She had taken time out to make up. There was not the flicker of an expression in the more than usually mask-like face. Nor did it unbend as Belknap opened the dining-room door, asking for Doctor Giles.
“Quick. I’m afraid they’ve got Whittaker. Where in Hell are the police?”
Whittaker lay huddled over the table, his face in his arms. Dr. Giles’ hasty examination showed that he had been shot from behind. The bullet had entered below the left shoulder blade, passed through the heart (death being instantaneous), and lodged in the table, splintering the wood deeply. Berry remarked on the last.
“Close range, that,” he said. “Are you sure there was no one else in the room, Belknap? Could someone have slipped in behind you both?”
“It seems very unlikely. I should have said the shot came from the direction of the library. But I myself was facing that particular door.”
“There were two shots fired,” said Julian.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Prentice.” Belknap was short in his speech. “There was one shot fired as you can see.”