Recovering from their first terror, the clerks left their desks and massed forward toward the partition, but the head clerk waved them back.
"Everyone remain in his place until after the police have arrived," he ordered.
The office boy, who had gone to summon a policeman, now returned with the bluecoat. The latter examined the dead man an instant, then, following the usual custom, summoned an ambulance and notified the coroner.
"Looks like a suicide," he declared over the telephone.
The ambulance was the first to arrive and the young surgeon, after listening vainly for a promising flutter of the heart, officially pronounced the merchant dead. When the coroner arrived, he was assured that nothing in the private office had been disturbed, after which he proceeded with his investigation.
Almost the first object which he noticed was a shiny revolver lying on the desk, about an inch from the dead man's fingers. As he lifted the weapon, he observed that the merchant had been shot in the side, and, turning toward the policeman, said:
"A plain case of suicide."
More as a matter of form, rather than with any hope of discovering anything of value, the coroner opened the revolver, and, as he did so, an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips. His eyes fixed themselves on the loaded chambers of the barrel in a puzzled stare until he was convinced that his senses were not deceiving him.
The revolver was fully loaded. It had never been fired.
Switching on the electric lights, the coroner examined the clothing of the victim. There were no powder marks where the bullet had entered.