Once inside the house, through the usual, morbid crowd who gathered outside, he met the plain-clothes officer on duty.
“Anything to report?” he said, in answer to the other’s salute.
“No, sir,” said he. “They are still at work on the floor and ceiling and the walls.”
A gang of expert men had been engaged to search for a means of exit from the room by which the murderer had escaped. There had been found no trace of a secret door, or so much as a crevice through which a mouse could get. They had even ripped up all the boards, and taken off the oak panelling from the walls. The ceiling had been examined all over and the chimney sounded. There was nothing.
“Have you found anything in the nature of a letter or anything, anywhere?” he asked of the man in charge.
“Nothing, sir, but we can search all the furniture and books.”
“Please do so. It is of great importance, and say nothing about it to anyone.”
“Very good, sir,” said the man who was keen on this job, and wanted to stand well with the superintendent.
Sinclair addressed the plain-clothes officer.
“Has the body been searched?”