CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH I MAKE A DISCOVERY.
Having explained who I was, I followed the men in and assisted them in making a careful and minute examination of the place.
Search for the weapon with which the crime had been committed proved fruitless; hence it was plain that the murderer had carried it away. There were no signs whatever of a struggle, and nothing to indicate that the blow had been struck by any burglar with a motive of silencing the prostrate man.
The room was a large front one on the first floor, with two French windows opening upon a balcony formed by the big square portico. Both were found to be secured, not only by the latches, but also by long screws as an extra precaution against thieves, old Mr. Courtenay, like many other elderly people, being extremely nervous of midnight intruders. The bedroom itself was well furnished in genuine Sheraton, which he had brought up from his palatial home in Devonshire, for the old man denied himself no personal comfort. The easy chair in which he had sat when I had paid my visit was still in its place at the fireside, with the footstool just as he had left it; the drawers which we opened one after another showed no sign of having been rummaged, and the sum result of our investigations was absolutely nil.
“It looks very much as though someone in the house had done it,” whispered the inspector seriously to me, having first glanced at the door to ascertain that it was closed.
“Yes,” I admitted, “appearances certainly do point to that.”
“Who was the young lady who met us downstairs?” inquired the detective sergeant, producing a small note-book and pencil.
“Miss Ethelwynn Mivart, sister to Mrs. Courtenay.”