Both drew back in dismay.
“He’s been stabbed?” the man who held the match exclaimed in a low, terrified voice. “See, the overcoat must have been opened first, as it isn’t pierced.”
The victim had been wounded in the heart, struck by a steady hand, and evidently with great violence.
They stood aghast at the horrifying discovery.
“What do you think of it, Bill?” asked the old driver timorously.
“Murder, without a doubt.”
“I wonder whether this will give any clue to the murderer?” the elder man said, picking up the handkerchief.
It was a lady’s—a small square of fine cambric with a delicate border of lace.
“Let’s look,” exclaimed his companion, taking it in his hands, and holding it to the lamp.
“Any mark on it?”