“Suicide!”
It was an affirmation rather than a question, and the little doctor took it up. He was not a young man and the shock and the excitement were beginning to tell on his nerves.
“I am not a police surgeon,” he said with some asperity; “in fact, I may say I have not seen a dead body since my hospital days. I ... I ... know nothing about these things. This is a matter for the police. They must be summoned at once. Where’s Bude?”
Robin Greve turned quickly.
“Get on to the police station at Stevenish at once, Bude,” he ordered. “Do you know the Inspector?”
“Yessir,” the butler answered in a hollow voice. His hands were trembling violently, and he seemed to control himself with difficulty. “Mr. Humphries, sir!”
“Well, ring him up and tell him that Mr. Parrish ... Hullo, what do all these people want?”
There was a commotion at the door. Frightened faces were framed in the doorway. Outside there was the sound of a woman whimpering. A tall, dark young man in a tail coat came in quickly. He stopped short when he saw the solemn faces of the group at the desk. It was Parrish’s man, Jay. He stepped forward to the desk and in a frightened sort of way peered at the body as it lay on the floor.
“Oh, sir,” he said breathlessly, addressing Greve, “what ever has happened to Mr. Parrish? It can’t be true ...”
Greve put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.