Anderson looked to Beresford for confirmation.
“Is that true?”
“Yes,” said Beresford. He started to explain. “I got tired of waiting and so I—”
The detective broke in curtly.
“All right.”
He took a step toward the alcove.
“Now, Doctor.” He nodded at the huddle beneath the raincoat. Beresford followed his glance—and saw the ominous heap for the first time.
“What’s that?” he said tensely. No one answered him. The Doctor was already on his knees beside the body, drawing the raincoat gently aside. Beresford stared at the shape thus revealed with frightened eyes. The color left his face.
“That’s not—Dick Fleming—is it?” he said thickly. Anderson slowly nodded his head. Beresford seemed unable to believe his eyes.
“If you’ve looked over the ground,” said the Doctor in a low voice to Anderson, “I’ll move the body where we can have a better light.” His right hand fluttered swiftly over Fleming’s still, clenched fist—extracted from it a torn corner of paper....