“Doctor Aire and the two young, very young Americans.”
“And what says the Doctor to the blood on the lawn?” asked Cosgrove.
“He took some of it up for microscopy. He can tell if it’s probably human or not. He’s more than a little interested.”
We had entered the Hall of the Moth from the portrait corridor, and through the plenteous windows saw a swift rain pouring down.
“The evidence is getting wet.”
“Canvas spread over,” Crofts assured us. “And this evidence now gets carbonized.”
We watched the fragments of cardboard smoulder, flare, and become consumed in the fireplace where raindrops spattered down the chimney, until only ashes were left, and a tiny spire of smoke. Cosgrove disintegrated the ash with the poker.
“That’s a blessing,” said Crofts, taking out his watch. “Luncheon-bell in ten minutes. Between now and then I shall smoke not less than three cigarettes.”
VII.
Court of Inquiry
We ate beneath a sprinkling of electric lights and my mind was glum with foreboding.