And even in the moment of his saying, the white beam of the flashing searchlight from the Tower fell between the undrawn draperies of the octagonal window. The light startled the Inspector again, as it had done once before that same night. His gaze followed it instinctively. So, within the second, he saw the still form lying there on the floor—lying where had been shadows, where now, for the passing of an instant, was brilliant radiance.
There was no mistaking that awful, motionless, crumpled posture. The Inspector knew in this single instant of view that murder had been done here. Even as the beam of light from the Tower shifted and vanished from the room, he leaped to the switch by the door, and turned on the lights of the chandelier. In the next moment, he had reached the door of the passage across the room, and his whistle sounded shrill. His voice bellowed reinforcement to the blast.
“Cassidy! Cassidy!”
As Dick made a step toward his wife, from whom he had withdrawn a little in his colloquy with the official, Burke voiced his command viciously:
“Stay where you are—both of you!”
Cassidy came rushing in, with the other detectives. He was plainly surprised to find the room so nearly empty, where he had expected to behold a gang of robbers.
“Why, what's it all mean, Chief?” he questioned. His peering eyes fell on Dick, standing beside Mary, and they rounded in amazement.
“They've got Griggs!” Burke answered. There was exceeding rage in his voice, as he spoke from his kneeling posture beside the body, to which he had hurried after the summons to his aides. He glowered up into the bewildered face of the detective. “I'll break you for this, Cassidy,” he declared fiercely. “Why didn't you get here on the run when you heard the shot?”
“But there wasn't any shot,” the perplexed and alarmed detective expostulated. He fairly stuttered in the earnestness of his self-defense. “I tell you, Chief, there hasn't been a sound.”
Burke rose to his feet. His heavy face was set in its sternest mold.