“One by the bed,” supplemented Curtis. “It is overturned.”
McLane glanced at him in astonishment. “It is,” he admitted. “But I can only see the legs of the chair from where we are standing. How did you know the chair was there and lying on the floor?”
“Intuition perhaps, or only a good guess,” Curtis smiled oddly. “On which side of the bed is it? On the side Meredith climbed out?”
“No, on the far side.” Curtis nodded his head thoughtfully as he stepped forward.
“Which way is the bed?” he asked. For answer McLane led him to it.
With touch deft as a woman’s, Curtis passed his hands over the pillows and the bolster, leaving them undisturbed; then his hands traveled across the sheet, hovered for a second on the edges of the bloodstain and followed its course over the side of the bed and from the valance to the carpet.
As he dropped on one knee and ran his fingers along the carpet the hall door opened and Coroner Penfield entered. He halted abruptly at sight of David Curtis creeping across the floor, his long sensitive fingers playing up and down the carpet, and glanced questioningly at McLane. Before the latter could explain Curtis broke the silence.
“Meredith must have either fallen or stooped over here,” he said. “Oh, I forgot,” his smile was a bit twisted. “You can see this and deduct it for yourself.”
“But we can’t,” cut in Penfield quickly. “What makes you think Meredith stopped there? It is not on the way to the door.”
“Because of the amount of blood on this spot.” Curtis raised his head. “See for yourself.”