He stopped, and an eloquent gesture completed his sentence.
“You found the room occupied,” supplemented the coroner practically. “Was the man dead or alive?” and the look he shot at Richards under his shaggy brows was penetrating.
“The man was dead.” Richards’ eyelids flickered somewhat. “At least I judged so from my superficial knowledge of medical matters. I certainly did not kill him.”
Penfield let pass a certain flippant hardness which had crept into Richards’ manner, and Ferguson, who had worked with the coroner in many criminal cases, followed his cue.
“What was your next action, Major Richards?” Penfield inquired.
“I returned to my wife and gave her the medicine, then slipped downstairs and called you up,” was the concise reply. “You came and instructed me to send for Detective Ferguson, and after doing so, I awaited his arrival and brought him here.”
“Did you inform your wife of your gruesome discovery in the library?” inquired Penfield.
“I did not.”
“Why not?”
“My wife was already in a highly nervous state, and I feared she would become ill if further excited,” Richards explained.