Yet he said nothing beyond agreeing with his companions that a dastardly crime had been committed, and expressing a hope that the assassin would be arrested.
“He’s a stranger,” declared Scarcliff.
“Yes—an entire stranger,” said Winsloe, emphatically, and at the same time he bent forward to get a better view of the lifeless countenance. Standing behind, I watched him closely.
The sight of the body had produced a remarkable change in him. His face was wild and terrified, and I saw that his lips trembled.
Nevertheless he braced himself up with a great effort, and said,—
“Then it’s a complete mystery. He was found by Harris, the keeper, last night?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Booth. “He’d been dead then some hours. Dr Richards says it’s murder. He’s goin’ to make the post-mortem this afternoon.”
“Has the revolver been found?” he asked.
“No, sir. We’ve been searching all the morning, but can find nothing.”
“And what was in his pockets?” inquired Winsloe, his anxiety well disguised.