In the face of Mr. Bidwell’s firm and masterful attitude, Badger began, as usual, to weaken. Eventually, having warned us to convey no information to anybody, he grudgingly opened the door and admitted us. “I have only just arrived, myself,” he said. “I happened to be in the porter’s lodge on other business when the laundress came and gave the alarm.” As I stepped into the room and looked round, I saw at a glance the clear indications of a crime. The place was in the utmost disorder. The cloth had been dragged from the table, littering the floor with broken glass, books, a tobacco jar, and various other objects. A chair sprawled on its back, the fender was dislodged from its position, the hearth-rug was all awry; and in the midst of the wreckage, on the space of floor between the table and the fireplace, the body of a man was stretched in a not uneasy posture. I stooped over him and looked him over searchingly; an elderly man, clean-shaved and slightly bald, with a grim, rather forbidding countenance, which was not, however, distorted or apparently unusual in expression. There were no obvious injuries, but the crumpled state of the collar caused me to look more closely at the throat and neck, and I then saw pretty plainly a number of slightly discoloured marks, such as would be made by fingers tightly grasping the throat. Evidently Badger had already observed them, for he remarked: “There’s no need to ask you what he died of, doctor; I can see that for myself.” “The actual cause of death,” said I, “is not quite evident. He doesn’t appear to have died from suffocation, but those are very unmistakable marks on the throat.” “Uncommonly,” agreed Badger; “and they are enough for my purpose without any medical hair-splittings. How long do you think he has been dead?” “From nine to twelve hours,” I replied, “but nearer nine, I should think.” The inspector looked at his watch. “That makes it between nine o’clock and midnight, but nearer midnight,” said he. “Well, we shall hear if the night porter has anything to tell us. I’ve sent word for him to come over, and the laundress, too. And here is one of ’em.” It was, in fact, both of them, for when the inspector opened the door, they were discovered conversing eagerly in whispers. “One at a time,” said Badger. “I’ll have the porter in first;” and having admitted the man, he unceremoniously shut the door on the woman. The night porter saluted me as he came in--we were old acquaintances--and then halted near the door, where he stood stiffly, with his eyes riveted on the corpse. “Now,” said Badger, “I want you to try to remember if you let in any strangers last night, and if so, what their business was.” “I remember quite well,” the porter replied. “I let in three strangers while I was on duty. One was going to Mr. Bolter in Fig Tree Court, one was going to Sir Alfred Blain’s chambers, and the third said he had an appointment with Mr. Herrington.”