Absolutely nothing remained to show who were the pair lying dead, and no explanation seemed possible of that strange red light burning there so steadily, and unflickering. By the appearance of the glass, and the dust in the oil, the tiny lamp must have burned on incessantly for a very long time.
Strange it was that there, within a few yards of one of London’s great arteries of traffic, that charming woman and her companion should have been cut off swiftly and suddenly, without a hand being stretched forth to save them.
In company we went downstairs, leaving the light in the laboratory still burning, and re-entered the drawing-room to take a final glance around. As I approached the prostrate body of the man I felt something beneath my foot, and glancing down saw that some coppers had evidently fallen from his pocket and were lying strewn about the carpet. Then, having remained a few minutes longer, we both went out by the door we had entered, locking it and taking the key.
“We must report it, Patterson,” I said. “It certainly has some queer and very extraordinary features.”
“Yes,” he responded; adding slowly, “did you notice anything strange up in that top room where the chemicals and things were?”
“Yes, a good deal,” I answered. “It isn’t every one who keeps snakes as pets.”
“I don’t mean that,” he answered. “But did you notice on the table a glassful of liquid, like water?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that stuff was bubbling and boiling without any heat beneath.”
“Perhaps the man who experiments there is a conjurer,” I suggested, smiling at his surprise at seeing liquid boil when exposed to air. Police-officers know little of any other science save that of self-defence.