At this moment two policemen appeared, preceded by a locksmith armed with a bunch of keys, and a little man with a shrewd, sharp appearance, wearing spectacles, and a hat from under which fell blond curls. The commissioner of police probably. “On which story?” he asked the concierge. “On the first.” “Come with us.” He started to go upstairs, accompanied by the concierge, the locksmith, and one of the policemen; Saniel wished to follow them, but the other policeman barred the way. “Pardon, Monsieur Commissioner,” Saniel said. “What do you wish, sir?” “I am Monsieur Caffie’s physician.” “Your name?” “Doctor Saniel.” “Let the doctor pass,” the commissioner said, “but alone. Make every one go out, and shut the porte-cochere.” On reaching the landing the commissioner stopped to look at the brown stain which, running under the door, spread over the tiling, as Caffie never had had a mat. “It is certainly a stain of blood,” Saniel said, who stopped to examine it and dipped his finger in it. “Open the door,” the commissioner said to the locksmith. The latter examined the lock, looked among his keys, selected one, and unlocked the door. “Let no one enter,” the commissioner said. “Doctor, have the goodness to follow me.” And, going ahead, he entered the first office, that of the clerk, followed by Saniel. Two little rills of blood, already thickened, starting from Caffie’s chair, and running across the tiled floor, which sloped a little toward the side of the staircase, joined in the stain which caused the discovery of the crime. The commissioner and Saniel took care not to step in it. “The unfortunate man has had his throat cut,” Saniel said. “Death must have occurred two or three hours ago. There is nothing to do.” “Speak for yourself, doctor.” And, stooping, he picked up the knife. “Is it not a butcher’s knife?” asked Saniel, who could only use this word. “It looks like it.” He had raised Caffie’s head and examined the wound. “You see,” he said, “that the victim has been butchered. The stroke was from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle this knife. But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done this deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed to insure a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a silent one.” “You think it was done by a butcher?” “By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, and with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. As the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able to cry out; considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in one or two minutes.” “The scene appears to me very well reconstructed.” “The blood should have burst out in this direction,” Saniel continued, pointing to the door. “But as this door was open, nothing is to be seen.”