"You mean he disappeared quite early in the evening?"
"Yes; so far as we have been able to ascertain," Morriston answered. "Naturally, before this awful discovery we had been much exercised by his mysterious disappearance and failure to return to the hotel."
"All the same," Henshaw returned sourly, "one can hardly accept the inference that he came down here for the express purpose of making away with himself in your house."
"No, I cannot understand it," Morriston replied, as he turned and began to ascend the winding stairway.
On the threshold of the topmost floor he paused.
"This is the door we found locked on the inside," he observed quietly.
Henshaw gave a keen look round, and nodded. Morriston pushed open the door and they entered.
The body of Clement Henshaw still lay on the floor in charge of the detective and the inspector, the third man having been despatched to the town to make arrangements for its removal. With a nod to the officials, Henshaw advanced to the body and bent over it. "Poor Clement!" he murmured.
After a few moments' scrutiny, Henshaw turned to the officers. "I am the brother of the deceased," he said, addressing more particularly the detective. "What do you make of this?"
The question was put in the same sharp, business-like tone which had characterized his utterances in the library.