“Nothing,” reported Coombes.
“What do you mean—nothing?”
“His pockets are empty!”
“All of them?”
“Every one.”
“Good,” said Kerry. “Make a note of it. He wears a real pearl stud and a good signet ring; also a gold wrist watch, face broken and hands stopped at seven-fifteen. That was the time he died. He was stabbed from behind as he stood where I’m standing now, fell forward, struck his head on the leg of the chair, and lay face downwards.”
“I’ve got that,” muttered Coombes. “What stopped the watch?”
“Broken as he fell. There are tiny fragments of glass stuck in the carpet, showing the exact position in which his body originally lay; and for God’s sake stop smiling.”
Kerry threw open the door.
“Who first found the body?” he demanded of the silent company.