I went over and stood beside the detective, and looked down at the body and felt the hand. It was cold. Death must have been some hours before. There could not have been much, if any, struggle, and there were no signs of violence, except the dagger. This had apparently been taken from its sheath, which was still suspended from the wall, within easy reach, just over the divan. I had seen all I needed to tell me the man had probably been murdered in his sleep, and I turned away to look more carefully about the room. Already the influence of my training in the District Attorney's office was asserting itself, and I was looking for evidences of the criminal, even while sorrowing for my friend. At the first glance, as I have said, nothing had appeared changed in the room or its contents since I had left it the previous night, or rather that morning, but now as my eye fell upon the cards scattered over the centre table, and the score-card still undisturbed, I remembered the money that Van Bult had placed upon the table and that was still there when I left. It was now gone. I looked on the floor where it might have fallen, but could see it nowhere; some one had taken it or perhaps it was in the dead man's pocket; but that would be determined at the right time, and I passed it by for further study of the room. Just at this time Ned Davis, whom I had not observed on first entering, crossed over to me from a seat by the piano, and asked what I made of it, adding some expression of horror at the terrible event. I told him I could form no theory as yet; then he called my attention to the fact that a plaid ulster that White was in the habit of wearing in rough weather, and which had been lying across a chair near the window, had disappeared. I remembered it, also, but its disappearance seemed unaccountable upon any theory, and I concluded it would be found somewhere in the room or hall and dismissed it from my mind for the time. I asked Davis if he had seen either Littell or Van Bult, but he said no; that he had been aroused about seven o'clock by a maid servant of the house who was almost hysterical, and only managed to tell him to go down and "see what was there." He had dressed hastily and come down to find things as I saw them, only that there was no one present at that time but a policeman and the landlady, the former standing guard over the door, which was open, and the latter sitting in a half-dazed state on a chair in the hall. That shortly afterwards another officer had appeared with the man to whom I had been talking, he presumed a detective, and he had then been admitted to the room, but not questioned in any way or permitted to touch anything. He said Benton had also appeared at the door with the detective and officer, but had rushed off again somewhere, and that he had seen no one else, except a few of the inmates of the house, and Dr. Lincoln, who had come in, pronounced White dead and left again, saying that he would return at once.