“Who?”
“Richard Fleming.”
“Richard Fleming?” gasped the Doctor in tones of incredulous horror.
“Shot and killed from that staircase,” said Miss Cornelia tonelessly.
The detective demurred.
“Shot and killed, anyhow,” he said in accents of significant omission.
The Doctor knelt beside the huddle on the floor. He removed the fold of the raincoat that covered the face of the corpse and stared at the dead, blank mask. Till a moment ago, even at the height of his irritation with Bailey, he had been blithe and offhand—a man who seemed comparatively young for his years. Now Age seemed to fall upon him, suddenly, like a gray, clinging dust—he looked stricken and feeble under the impact of this unexpected shock.
“Shot and killed from that stairway,” he repeated dully. He rose from his knees and glanced at the fatal stairs.
“What was Richard Fleming doing in this house at this hour?” he said.
He spoke to Miss Cornelia but Anderson answered the question.