The man was obviously
dead. The Inspector took his handkerchief and covered up the head. A few
feet away was a heavy paper-weight.
"Killed by a blow from behind," French remarked grimly, "with that little
affair. Look here!"
They glanced down at the girl. Quest's eyebrows came together quickly.
There were two blue marks upon her throat where a man's thumbs might have
been.
"The hands again!" he muttered.
The Inspector nodded.
"Can you make anything of it?"
"Not yet," Quest confessed. "I must think."
The Inspector glanced at him curiously.
"Where on earth have you been to?" he demanded.
"Been to?" Quest repeated.
"Look in the mirror!" French suggested.
Quest glanced at himself. His collar had given way, his tie was torn, a
button and some of the cloth had been wrenched from his coat, his trousers
were torn, he was covered with dust.
"I'll tell you about my trouble a little later on," he replied. "Say,
can't we keep those girls out?"
They were too late. Laura and Lenora were already upon the threshold.
Quest swung round towards them.
"Girls," he said, "there has been some trouble here. Go and wait upstairs,
Lenora, or sit in the hall. Laura, you had better telephone to the police
station, and for a doctor. That's right, isn't it, Inspector?"
"Yes!" the latter assented thoughtfully.
Lenora, white to the lips, staggered a few feet back into the hall. Laura
set her teeth and lingered.
"Is that Ross?" she asked.
"It's his body," Quest replied.
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