“No. I just came from my rooms to go to lunch and saw him lying here.”
“Did you hear him fall, or any disturbance, or——”
“I heard nothing, Doctor Perry, not a sound.”
“We must call a policeman. I will wait here while you do so. Go down to the street and find an officer.”
“Won’t it be better to telephone? I can do so in a moment.”
“Yes, yes, in that case,” Doctor Perry nodded. “Hasten.”
Miss Vernon ran back and entered her rooms, on the door of which a modest brass plate stated that her business was that of a manicure and ladies’ hairdresser. She ran to a telephone in one of the attractively furnished rooms, crying quickly to the exchange operator:
“Give me the police headquarters. Hurry, please! It’s an emergency case.”
Seated with Chief Gleason in the latter’s private office when the telephone call was received in the outer office was the celebrated American detective, Nicholas Carter, who had arrived in Madison early that morning with two of his assistants, and who then was discussing with the chief the business which had occasioned his visit, the nature of which will presently appear. They were interrupted by a police sergeant, who knocked and entered, saying quickly:
“A man has dropped dead, chief, in a corridor of the Waldmere Chambers. Shall I send the ambulance?”