“Clad just as he was when he left Flood’s gambling-house,” thought Nick. “He must have come directly out here. There’s no sign of the satchel, however, in which he had brought away his winnings. It looks as if the motive was robbery.”
And Nick recalled the frenzied threats of young Harry Royal, but decided it was too early in the game to draw any reliable conclusions.
Nick reverted almost immediately to the physician, who had risen while wiping his soiled hands, and now addressed his several companions. Three of these were officers of the local police, among them Captain Talbot, of the precinct station, and one was a plain-clothes man from the central office, Detective Joe Gerry.
Nick knew all of them very well, and they him, yet for the present he preferred to hide his identity.
“A case of murder, Detective Gerry, that’s what it is,” declared the physician, turning to the central office man. “The question is, By whose hand was the crime committed?”
“How long has he been dead?” demanded Gerry bluntly.
“About twelve hours.”
“That would be since nine o’clock last evening?”
“That hits very near to it,” replied the physician.
“You are sure of this man’s identity, Doctor Royal?”