“Sure!” Mitchell set the parrot on its perch and placed a steadying hand on its back as the beadlike black eyes regarded him with an unwinking stare. “Will the inquest be here or at the morgue?”
“I haven’t quite decided.” Penfield stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But I have fully decided that Meredith’s death is not a case of suicide, but of murder.”
McLane, reentering the bedroom, stopped as if shot and gazed in horror at the coroner. Curtis replaced the handkerchief in his pocket and changed his cane to his right hand.
“May I ask what has led you to that conclusion. Doctor Penfield?”
Penfield hesitated and looked behind him to make certain that the hall door was closed, then lowered his voice to a confidential pitch as the men gathered about him.
“For one thing,” he began, “the absence of any weapon. Had Meredith killed himself the weapon would have been in this bedroom or in the hall. It is a case of murder.”
A hoarse croak from the parrot cut the silence and turning they looked at the bird. Ruffles leered drunkenly at them, before he spoke with startling clearness:
“Anne—I’ve caught you—you devil!”
CHAPTER V
THE INQUEST