Kerry chewed silently for a moment, bestowing a fierce stare upon each face in turn, then:
“Who’s in charge?” he snapped.
“I am,” replied Whiteleaf.
“Why is the lower door open?”
“I thought—”
“Don’t think. Shut the door. Post your Sergeant inside. No one is to go out. Grab anybody who comes in. Where’s the body?”
“This way,” said Inspector Whiteleaf hurriedly; then, over his shoulder: “Go down to the door, Burton.”
He led Kerry towards the inner room, Coombes at his heels. Brisley and Gunn stood aside to give them passage; Gray and Monte Irvin prepared to follow. At the doorway Kerry turned.
“You will all be good enough to stay where you are,” he said. He directed the aggressive stare in Seton’s direction. “And if the gentleman smoking a cheroot is not satisfied that he has quite destroyed any clue perceptible by the sense of smell I should be glad to send out for some fireworks.”
He tossed his oilskin and his cane on the divan and went into the room of seance, savagely biting at a piece of apparently indestructible chewing-gum.