It reached. Cub stood straight and clipped:
“Baldy Rathbone. Not doctor. Chief pharmacist of the Elijah Wilson. But why in God’s name! Baldy Rathbone!”
The incredulity returned. He looked again at the inert body with its eerie features.
Higgins nodded slowly....
The long hair had flopped so that the wide part again led to the shiny spot....
“The book!”
When the sentence finally reached Sally’s lips, it whipped both Sterling and Higgins into action. They ran across the room and the sun took their gray and brown heads and played upon them. Through the cob-webbed windows it shone with prismatic beauty onto the now expressionless face of the dead man.
A terrible desire to get away from that hideous beauty gave Sally the will to mount the remaining steps and run to the table and to Cub.
Through the single open window, the late spring breeze played gently. It brought a hush to the horror-stricken air and a single fly entered, flew directly to the dead man’s face and began walking upon his crooked lips, up his relaxed cheek and around his glassy eyes.
Matthew Higgins held, in his blunt hairy hand, a small stiff-backed notebook, such as the Elijah Wilson used for ward-addresses. The back was checkered and the pages ruled. It was open at a half-written page. The ink was still wet and the small, finely formed script stood out heavily.