He had been stabbed just over the heart, and my
first thought was of that odd Indian knife which I had seen lying
on his study table. I turned quickly to seek it, but it was gone.
And as I looked at the table it came to me that here in this dusty
room there must be finger prints--many finger prints.
The room was quite in order, despite those sounds of struggle. One
or two odd matters met my eye. On the table stood a box from a
florist in Bond Street. The lid had been removed and I saw that
the box contained a number of white asters. Beside the box lay a
scarf-pin--an emerald scarab. And not far from the captain's body
lay what is known--owing to the German city where it is made--as
a Homburg hat.
I recalled that it is most important at such times that nothing be
disturbed, and I turned to old Walters. His face was like this
paper on which I write; his knees trembled beneath him.
"Walters," said I, "we must leave things just as they are until the
police arrive. Come with me while I notify Scotland Yard."
"Very good, sir," said Walters.
We went down then to the telephone in the lower hall, and I called
up the Yard. I was told that an inspector would come at once and
I went back to my room to wait for him.
You can well imagine the feelings that were mine as I waited.
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