A man standing in the shadow of the drawing room door came forward.
“Detective Mitchell, sir, of the Central Office,” he said politely. “I was sent to investigate the case of the man found dead here this afternoon.”
“A man found dead here!” shouted Burnham, stepping backward and colliding against Maynard. “Who is he?”
“We don’t know,” acknowledged Mitchell. “But we are trying to establish his identity. Your step-daughter found him in the library.”
Burnham stared at the detective wide-eyed. Suddenly he took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
“A dead man here!” he ejaculated feebly. “An unknown man?”
“Perhaps if you will step in here you may be able to help us identify him,” suggested Mitchell. “We have brought the body down into the billiard room preparatory to taking it to the morgue.”
It seemed almost as if Burnham did not comprehend what the detective was saying, and but for Maynard’s guiding hand he would not have found his way into the room. The body lay on the billiard table covered by a sheet. Stepping forward, Mitchell pulled down the sheet, signing to Burnham to step nearer, and both he and Maynard watched Burnham as he bent over the body. After what seemed an interminable time to Maynard, he straightened up.
“I have no idea who he is,” Burnham stated.