The doctor met them at the door. After a few words of explanation on both sides he hurried into the sitting-room and knelt down beside the body, drawing off his thick driving-gloves as he did so. His hands were cold and he seemed to have some difficulty in freeing them from the stiff leather. As he pulled at the gloves his quick eyes scanned the body, taking in all the details of its appearance. Leslie, who was standing immediately opposite to him, was struck with the keen alertness of his glance and revised his opinion of him then and there. Gregg had always struck him as rather a stupid person and he made a mental note of the fact that, until you have seen a man at his job, it is wiser not to pass judgment on him. Gregg parted the hair over the side of the head as Brace had done. “Good Lord! Shot!” he ejaculated. Leslie noticed that the hands with which he unfastened the woman’s dress to make a further examination were not quite steady, and again decided that he had never done the man justice. He was evidently genuinely moved at the sight of the pitiful figure before him. “Can you arrive at any conclusion as to how long she’s been dead?” asked Brace when he had finished his examination. “Difficult to say with such a cursory examination, but, roughly, four or five hours would cover it.” “Not longer?” “I don’t think so. I shouldn’t like to say within an hour or so. Not more than six hours, certainly.” “Would death be instantaneous?” “Almost certainly. Shot in the temple. Who killed her?” He swung round, still on his knees, and looked up at the Sergeant. Brace answered with another question as sharp as his own. “You don’t admit the possibility of suicide?” “Quite possible. For a left-handed woman. The wound’s on the wrong side.” “On the wrong side for a right-handed person,” commented Brace. “But we’ve no reason to think that she was right-handed.” Gregg rose to his feet and dusted the knees of his trousers. “Probably was. Most women are,” he said slowly. He bent down and examined the hands carefully. “She wrote with her right hand, anyway,” he said. “Look at this.” There were faint stains, evidently of ink, on the first and second fingers of the right hand. “One to you, Doctor,” conceded Brace good-humouredly. “Apart from that, it was a good shot of yours. There’s no weapon.” “Who found her?” “Mr. Leslie here. Whoever did it seems to have got away.” Brace looked sharply at Leslie. “A nasty jar, eh? Feel all right?” “Quite, thanks. But it’s a beastly business and I wish it had happened anywhere else.” “Ever seen the lady, Doctor?” asked Brace. Gregg scrutinized the delicate features of the unfortunate woman. “No friend of mine,” he said curtly. “Any idea who she is?” “Gunnet here has recognized her as a lady staying with Miss Allen, of Greycross. Thinks she’s her sister.” Leslie’s exclamation of horrified astonishment was drowned by Gregg. “Good God!” he shouted. “Not Miss Allen’s sister!”