“We have not yet found an answer to that question,” replied Mitchell.
“He was probably on his way to summon help,” suggested McLane.
“But he had the house telephone right here at hand,” objected Hollister.
“If he regretted his rash act and wished immediate aid he did not have to leave his room and crawl down the hall to find it.” He looked belligerently at the others. “Why didn’t John cry out? That would have been the quickest way to have awakened us.”
“A man with such a gash in his throat would not have breath enough to shout,” McLane pointed out.
“He could not have lived ten minutes after—”
“Inflicting it,” supplemented Hollister. “Then it is all the more extraordinary that he left his bedroom and tried to go down this winding corridor.”
Coroner Penfield and Inspector Mitchell exchanged glances.
“Mr. Hollister,” the latter asked, “when did you last see Meredith?”
“On my way to bed,” responded the lawyer. “I looked in for a moment. It was just after I left you in the library,” he turned to Curtis; “about eleven-twenty, I suppose.”