“One moment, Fallon,” said Nick. “What has been done in this room, Grady, since the crime was discovered.”
“Nothing, sir,” said the policeman, gazing curiously at him. “Both women say they have not entered the room, though the housekeeper opened this door. I have disturbed nothing. Things are just as I found them.”
“Very good.”
Nick paused on the threshold of the open door and studied with searching scrutiny the tragic scene that met his gaze.
CHAPTER II.
CONFLICTING EVIDENCE.
The library was a square room of moderate size, comfortably, though simply furnished. An open desk stood against one of the walls, with a rise of shelves on each side, partly filled with books. In the middle of the room was a square, cloth-topped table, on which were several books and newspapers, also an oil lamp with a green porcelain shade.
A large leather-covered armchair stood near the table, between it and a swivel chair in front of the desk. A smaller chair near a window, the roller shade of which was partly drawn down, was overturned on the floor.
To the right of the window hung a portière consisting of two heavy tapestry curtains, suspended from a black walnut rod. They were drawn nearly together, but between them could be seen a double door with small, leaded glass windows. It opened upon a side veranda overlooking the tree-shaded grounds east of and to the rear of the dwelling.
Nick noticed that one of the curtains was awry, and, glancing up, he saw that it had been torn from one of the pins that fastened it to the transverse rod above the door.
On the floor between this door and the table lay the body of the murdered priest. He was a man of middle size, wearing the conventional black garments of his calling. He was lying on his back, with his arms extended, his head nearly touching a leg of the table, and with his smooth-shaved face upturned in plain view of the detectives, a face on which the pallor and peace of death long since had fallen.