A few strides brought him alongside the fallen car, where, in the pitiless moonlight, every detail of the tragedy stood out with horrible distinctness. Almost the first sight that met his eyes was the bodies of Fenton and Cooper, the former pinned down under the débris amid a cloud of escaping steam, and the other sprawled full length on the bare ground.
It was very obvious that nothing could be done for Fenton. The top of his skull had been smashed in like an eggshell, and, after just pausing to glance at the injury, Colin hurried over toward the prostrate figure of his companion.
The Canadian was lying on his face, his arms and legs flung out at a grotesque angle. To any one with medical knowledge there was something fatally suggestive about the mere attitude of the limbs, and it was no little surprise to Colin that, as he stooped down to make a closer examination, a low groan reached his ears.
With great care he turned over the helpless man and raised him in his arms.
"Well, we've got one of 'em alive, anyhow," observed the Inspector, who had followed him across the grass.
As though conscious of the remark, Cooper opened his eyes, and for a moment lay there with his head on Colin's shoulder, gazing up vaguely into the two faces above him. Then something that was almost a grin flickered across his face.
"I guess we've met before, mister," he jerked out faintly. "Say, how the hell did your friends get you out of that cellar?"
"Never mind now," interrupted the detective curtly. "You've got something else to think about at present. I am Inspector Marsden of Scotland Yard, and I arrest you for the murder of Professor Carter."
There was a glint of mockery in Cooper's face as his eyes travelled slowly in the direction of the speaker.
"Good for you, Sherlock Holmes," he gasped. "I reckon the British police ain't quite such duds after all." He paused, as though the effort of speaking had been almost too much for him. "It's tough luck you won't get the credit of hanging me," he added, in an even feebler voice. "Still, if you will be so damn careless with that gun o' yours——" He stopped, and with a little choking cough spat out a mouthful of blood.