M. Lenormand bent down and took the lifeless head in his hands:
"Chapman," he muttered. "He is dead."
He examined the body. A white knitted silk muffler was tied round the neck. He undid it. Red stains appeared; and he saw that the muffler held a thick wad of cotton-wool in position against the nape of the neck. The wad was soaked with blood.
Once again there was the same little wound, clean, frank and pitiless.
M. Formerie and the commissary were at once told and came hastening up.
"No one gone out?" asked the chief detective. "No surprise?"
"No," said the commissary. "There are two men on guard at the foot of each staircase."
"Perhaps he has gone up again?" said M. Formerie.
"No! . . . No! . . ."