Old Broadbrim stepped nimbly forward and bent over the bed.
A rigid figure lay upon it, and the first glance told him that death had been busy there.
"Who is he?" asked the detective.
"It's Jason Marrow. You didn't know him. Precious few people did. The papers which he has hidden will tell us more and we'll find them. It's your case, Mr. Broadbrim."
"I can't take it, Clippers."
The other fell back with a cry of amazement.
"You can't take it?" he gasped. "In the name of Heaven, are you mad, Mr. Broadbrim?"
"I hope not."
"But it's just the sort o' case you like. There's mystery in it. Killed by some one as yet unknown. Strangled by a hand unseen and dead in his little den."
"Yes, I know, Clippers, but it's not for me."