“Dead?” said the detective enquiringly. “By jove, this is a bad business. Will you stay here for a moment while I go down into the shop and telephone? I’ll ring up the station and get them to send for Whyland. Don’t touch anything, whatever you do.” Mr. Ludgrove nodded. He stood motionless in the door-way when voices below proclaimed the arrival on the scene of Ted and the doctor. The detective, who had sent his message, came upstairs with them, and the three joined Mr. Ludgrove. The doctor took in the situation at a glance. Mr. Copperdock was lying on his back, his legs drawn up close to his body. The doctor examined him in silence for awhile, then beckoned to the detective. “I don’t understand this at all,” he said. “I shall have to make a more thorough examination than is possible while he is lying in this position. I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. I don’t want to move him until your Inspector comes. He won’t be long, I suppose?” “He’s living close to the station,” replied the detective. “They’ve sent a man with a motor-cycle and side-car round to fetch him and bring him here. It oughtn’t to take him more than a few minutes. I’d rather you waited, if you don’t mind.” The doctor nodded and continued his examination, while the other three stood where they were, looking keenly about them. It was obvious that when death overtook Mr. Copperdock he had been preparing for bed. His coat, waistcoat, shirt and vest lay on a chair, and the basin on the washing stand was half full of soapy water. A towel lay on the floor near it. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden slowness until a faint throbbing reached their ears, which rapidly grew in intensity until it resolved itself into the sound of a motor-cycle. The noise ceased suddenly as it reached the door, and in a few seconds Inspector Whyland appeared, half dressed, with a stern expression on his face. “How did this happen, Waters?” he enquired sharply, turning to the detective. “I don’t know, sir,” replied the latter. “I’ve been watching the house all the evening——” “Well, never mind, you can tell me about that later,” interrupted Whyland. “Good evening, doctor. Can you tell me what this man died of?” “No, I can’t” replied the doctor. “It looks as if he had been bitten by a snake, or something of that kind. I was waiting till you came to make a thorough examination.” “Right. Stand fast a minute while I look round.” He made a swift survey of the room, then, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, marked on the carpet the position in which the body was lying. “Now then, doctor, I’m ready,” he said. “What do you want to do?” “I want him laid on his side, if you’ll bear a hand,” replied the doctor. “That’s right. Hullo, look at that!” They had moved Mr. Copperdock’s body until his back was visible. There, just below the left shoulder-blade, was an almost circular patch, covered with a curious white powdery incrustation. In the centre of this patch was an angry looking purple spot.