“Why not examine the man’s pockets?” suggested Maynard practically.
Penfield carried out the suggestion with a deftness which won the actor’s admiration, but all he brought to light was a piece of string.
“Every pocket empty,” he announced. “And apparently not even a coat-label—strange!” He cast a penetrating look at Evelyn. “Why did you not notify us sooner, Miss Preston?”
“Sooner?” echoed Evelyn. “I started to go for Dr. Hayden after finding this—this——” Evelyn choked; she was very near to tears and Penfield’s grave manner was beginning to impress her unfavorably. “I met Mrs. Ward, our housekeeper, on the front steps, brought her up here, and then sent her to telephone to Dr. Hayden. That hasn’t been more than an hour ago,” turning for confirmation to Hayden who nodded his agreement. “I only arrived in Washington this morning, Dr. Penfield, and—and—I was all alone in the house. He—he,”—pointing to the dead man—“he might have murdered me if he hadn’t died of apoplexy.”
Hayden, who had followed Evelyn’s statements with ever increasing interest, looked a trifle nonplussed as he glanced at his colleague who was winding the string, taken from the dead man’s pocket, in and out among his fingers.
“You say you arrived at the house this morning, Miss Preston,” began Penfield slowly, “and you did not enter this library until this afternoon.”
“I did, too,” contradicted Evelyn. “I came in here in the morning and opened the blinds; I did the same thing all over this floor so as to air the house, and——” She added as Hayden started to interrupt her, “I came into this room again about half past two——”
“And you sent for us about five o’clock,” commented Penfield dryly. “Your remarks are inconsistent—you previously stated you sent for us at once on finding the body——”
“The body was not here at half past two,” declared Evelyn.
“It wasn’t!” chorused the two physicians, while Maynard looked eagerly at Evelyn and back at them.