"Spoken like a soldier and a gentleman," said Cleek softly, with a nod of understanding. "Now I want to have a look at your father, Mr. Duggan. And I'd like it if you could just find it in your heart to stay here with me for a moment or two, and acquaint me with the facts. Your sister has told me the rough outline, and——"
"My sister?" His voice showed the surprise which this news elicited. "How did you see her, then?"
"That is a long story, which you shall hear some other time. At present she simply sent for me in a very quick and excellent manner, and I came at once. The worthy Sergeant and his men followed.... Now, Sergeant, place your men as I told you, and I'll get on to the business of examination. I only want to get a rough idea of the true method of death, and glean what clues I can for Mr. Narkom, who will arrive in the morning.... And, gad!" He glanced up at the huge clock which was ticking away the minutes and hours with sonorous voice. "It's getting on that way now. Now, Sergeant, if you can get one of your men to give me a hand with the body——"
Speaking, he moved it gently, until it lay half upon the pedestal desk-top, so that the light shone full upon the ghastly face, and rolled it tenderly over. There was a thin trickle of blood still oozing thickly from the left side of the breast, where the fine puncture of some almost needle-like instrument showed how successfully it had done its horrible duty. Cleek tore away the coat and waistcoat, stripped back the shirt from the frail body, and examined the wound through his little glass. In size it was no more than what might have been caused by a heavy bodkin, and in depth—so deep that it had no doubt punctured the inner walls of the heart, and, if successful in this method, caused immediate death to its victim.
He looked up quickly into Ross's downbent face, his own rather grim.
"A stiletto wound," he gave out in the sharp staccato of excitement. "See that fine, clean-cut edge? I've seen similar ones in Italy and in the southern parts of America. The blade's squarish, not flat as in the cases of most daggers. And it is amazingly sharp. That blow would cause a death-wound, undoubtedly. But I understand there was a shot fired as well—from an air-pistol, I imagine, as there was no sound. Now, the question is, where is that bullet, and from what direction was the shot fired? That'll tell us a lot."
Ross Duggan's face changed suddenly, as though a shadow had passed over it.
"That's the question, Mr. Deland," he replied in a tense voice. "If we could find out that, we could find out a good deal. But why this double crime should have been committed, Heaven alone can tell. My father had many enemies—but none who would have stooped to kill him—of that I am positive. And it is obvious that two have tried to do so. Look, here is the wound in the temple, just above the left eye. And it has gone clean through the head. Poor old Dad! Poor, misguided old Dad! How I hate that woman Paula and all her wiles and ways! If any one's at fault in this dastardly business, Mr. Deland, you can count upon her! Her father swung for a similar crime (she doesn't know I know that) and if she has done this terrible thing she, too, shall swing, as he did! Whoever has done this cruel, wicked thing, Mr. Deland, shall be brought to justice, if I have to scour the world over for the murderer."
"Ah—who? That is the question, my friend," returned Cleek quietly, stooping over the bowed white head with its thatch of snowy hair, and tracing the path of the bullet through it in his mind's eye. "H'm! Went through here and came out— Gad! here's the puncture! Right here! So that somewhere in this room that bullet has lodged itself, and when that is found we shall have our finger upon the pulse of this dreadful tragedy more surely than we know.... Heigho! It's two-thirty, and in this semi-darkness little to be done until the morning sends us its kindly rays. So we must leave things as they are for the present, and later go over the whole thing with clear heads and rested minds.... Sergeant, I put you in charge. A man outside of the window there, please, and another one in this room, and still another outside the door, and if any one tries to get in or out, blow your whistle and I'll be with you in a jiffy.... Come, Mr. Duggan. You're looking terribly white and fagged. Let's have a whisky-and-soda—if you'd be so good as to extend your hospitality so far—and then I'll make myself a shake-down in the next room, if you've no objection. I've given orders for no one to be allowed to leave the house until morning and until parole is given to do so, so you need have no fear of one of the murderers escaping."
"I— I—— What's that you say?" stammered out Ross, swinging round and looking at Cleek with drawn brows and flashing eyes. "You've given orders in my house! I say, you know, this is a bit thick; and—and who the dickens do you think would have done the thing in this place, may I ask? You're rather overstepping the bounds of common hospitality, Mr. Deland, in your role of private detective. And I must ask you to leave the ordering of things to me."