The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis picked it up, turned it over and laid it down again.
“Where did you find it?” he asked Matthews. The latter informed him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor.
“Let’s have a look at that!” he said.
Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is something about the presence of death which impels respect whatever the circumstances.
Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
“This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir,” she said.
Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier came in quickly.
He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
“Well, Bates,” said Matthews.