“H’m there are other explanations. But never mind that. The wound was such as to cause almost instantaneous death?” “Apparently it _did_ do so. Death was, of course, hastened by the immediate removal of the knife. Had that remained in the wound, the victim would doubtless have lived long enough to make a clear dying statement.” “What was the weapon? Can you divine?” “A sharp knife, dagger, or some such implement.” “A paper-cutter, say?” “Not likely. Unless it was an unusually sharp one. The cut is so cleanly made that it presupposes a very sharp blade.” “And your diagnosis of the killing corresponds in all points with this night porter’s story?” “So far as I can judge, there is no discrepancy in his narrative.” Dr Pagett was of the pompous school, and dearly loved to be in an important rôle. But he was evidently a learned and skilled physician and his words were spoken with a positive air that carried conviction. “There is little more to be learned from viewing the scene,” the detective said, at last, after he had put a few more direct questions to Bob Moore and had advised some with his companion policemen. “Nope; might as well let in the undertakers,” agreed Kelsey. “Oh, do,” urged Moore. “It’s really imperative that we get all traces of the tragedy away before daylight. And it’s almost four o’clock now!” “Good gracious, so it is!” exclaimed Miss Prall. “Well, I suppose I shall be consulted as to the funeral, at least! I seem to be of little importance here!” “Don’t talk like that, Aunt,” urged Bates. “These inquiries are necessary. The funeral services and all that, will of course be under our control.” “I should hope so,” the lady sniffed; “I shall stay here until the undertaker arrives. I want some say in these matters.” “I think, Letitia,” suggested Miss Gurney, “you’d better go to your room and tidy up a bit. You dressed very hastily.” “What matter! Such things are unimportant in a crisis of this sort! Oh, I can’t realize it! The awful circumstances almost make one forget the sadness of death! Poor Sir Herbert! He enjoyed life so much!” Miss Prall buried her face in her handkerchief, and so was unable to see the quizzical glances given her by Detective Corson. CHAPTER V Who Were the Women? The usual and necessary routine was followed out. The Medical Examiner came and did his part; the undertakers came and did theirs; and at last Bob Moore’s nervous restlessness was calmed, somewhat, by a hope of getting all signs of the tragedy obliterated before the morning’s stir began in the house. “I’ll wash up these blood stains, myself,” Moore volunteered,—speaking to Corson, after the body had been taken away to a mortuary establishment and the Prall family had gone up to their rooms. “Oh, I don’t know,” demurred Corson. “It’s evidence, you know——”