Quest stooped over him.
"He is dead," he declared.
* * * * *
Quest swung round in his chair as French entered the room, and held out
his left hand.
"Glad to see you, French. Help yourself to a cigar."
"I don't know as I want to smoke this morning just at present, thank you,"
French replied.
Quest laid down his pen and looked up. French was fidgeting about with his
hat in his hand. He was dressed more carefully than usual, but he was
obviously ill at ease.
"Nothing wrong, eh?"
"No, there's nothing wrong," French admitted. "I just looked in--"
Quest waited for a moment. Then he crossed his legs and assumed a patient
attitude.
"What the dickens did you look in for?" he asked.
"The fact of it is," French explained, "I should like a few words with
Miss Laura."
Quest laughed shortly.
"Why on earth couldn't you say so?" he observed. "Never knew you bashful
before, Inspector. She's up in the laboratory. I'll ring for some one to
show you the way."
Quest touched the bell and his new secretary entered almost at once.
"Take Inspector French up into the laboratory," Quest directed. "See you
later, French."
"Yes--perhaps--I hope so," the Inspector replied nervously.
Quest watched him disappear, with a puzzled smile.
Then he sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began
to write:
"My dear Inspector,
"I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of
deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am
abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of
criminology for a safer and happier career.
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