"Come down to the car. I think the boss is dead."
"Dead!" I exclaimed, and was down the stairs and out beside the car in a breath. The chauffeur was
standing beside the door. He opened it, and I saw Ricori huddled in a corner of the rear seat. I could feel
no pulse, and when I raised the lids of his eyes they stared at me sightlessly. Yet he was not cold.
"Bring him in," I ordered.
McCann and the chauffeur carried him into the house and placed him on the examination table in my
office. I bared his breast and applied the stethoscope. I could detect no sign of the heart functioning. Nor
was there, apparently, any respiration. I made a few other rapid tests. To all appearances, Ricori was
quite dead. And yet I was not satisfied. I did the things customary in doubtful cases, but without result.
McCann and the chauffeur had been standing close beside me. They read my verdict in my face. I saw a