“Then?” repeated Castle vaguely. “Then I staggered back and it was all I could do to keep myself from screaming at the top of my voice.” “It would probably have been the best thing you could have done, sir,” remarked Birts. “It was the last thing a gentleman should have done,” retorted Castle angrily. “It would have terrified Lady Penterton and the ladies out of their wits to have been roused to such a dreadful sight suddenly like that.” “Let us hear what you did do,” repeated Humblethorne, with a gentle insistence which had its due effect. “I fumbled about until I got my hand on the switch,” went on Castle shakily, “and turned the light on. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been coming suddenly in that eerie light, but it doesn’t bear talking about. I got down beside him somehow then, but I didn’t need to feel his heart to see that he was dead all right.” “How exactly was he lying? Go to the place, please, and describe it as accurately as you can.” “He was lying here,” said Castle, going with a very apparent distaste for his task to the foot of the stairs, “just to the left of the staircase, his head on the floor here below the bottom stair almost touching the corner; he was on his right side; his knees were drawn up and both arms flung out in front of him; his hands were open. It was a natural attitude, except for his head, which was bent backwards in a way that seemed to me particularly hideous.” “Yes, that’s just how he was when I see him,” added Birts in a rather aggrieved tone. Humblethorne remained silent, watching Castle as closely as the spot indicated. “Yes?” he said. “That’s all,” replied Castle. “I don’t think there is anything else I can add.” “According to your account, then, there is an interval of an hour and thirty-eight minutes from the time that Sir Roger left you to the time you came along the passage.” “Yes, just about; I cannot fix the exact minute I left my room.” “Were you writing in your room or in Sir Roger’s?” “In my room; I took my notebook back into it as usual when he had finished dictating.” “And during this time that you were writing you heard nothing?” “Not a sound of any sort; but of course I was busy.” “What did you do after turning the light on and satisfying yourself Sir Roger was dead? By the way, what made you conclude at once that he was dead?” “The blood had already ceased flowing and his arm had begun to stiffen; besides, there was no mistaking the look on his face. He must have been killed very soon after leaving me.” “Well; go on, please.” “My first thought,” continued Castle with an angry glance at the imperturbable figure of Humblethorne, “was of course that he had met with an accident; fallen and killed himself, I mean.” “Come, Mr. Castle,” broke in Birts, “that won’t do!”