As he stood there in the center of the floor, staring down at the dead woman, debating, there came to his ears the sound of a muffled cough in the hall. He took a quick step toward the closed door, more than half suspecting that some one was eavesdropping. "Oh, it's you, Bates," he grunted, as he saw the butler. "You might as well come in; there are some questions I wanted to ask you, anyhow." "Yes, sir," murmured Bates, entering the tragedy chamber willingly enough. "Have you discovered anything, doctor?" "Did you examine the body, Bates?" The butler shivered. "Examine it?" he whispered. "Heaven, no! I held a mirror close to her face; I touched her with my hand; that is all. Why did you ask me that, sir?" "I wondered what made you so certain that it was murder, Bates, and whether you had observed the nature of the wound which caused her death." "It wasn't that made me know it was murder; it wasn't anything more than just common sense. The door into the hall was open when we found her." "The door was open? What significance was there in that?" "Would you shoot yourself, sir, with a door standing half open?" Doctor Bushnell stared and, after considering this question for a moment, shook his head. "No," he answered slowly; "since you mention it, I don't suppose I would." "And you wouldn't scream, doctor, while you were getting ready to pull the trigger," added the deductively inclined butler. "You mean----" "I mean, sir, that she screamed horribly. Oh, it was a terrible scream, the kind of a scream that makes a man's blood turn to ice." Bates made no mention of his first impression that the scream might have been that of Miss Joan; he had, in his own mind, entirely rejected that possibility as too absurd for any consideration whatever. "As I take it, sir, she screamed when she knew that she was about to be murdered." "Humph!" murmured Doctor Bushnell. "You've got quicker wits than I'd given you credit for. You figured that out like--well, like, I imagine, a trained detective might do it." Despite the situation, Bates gave a faint smile of pleasure at this compliment. "I have always read a great many detective stories, sir," he said. "I've not only read them, I've studied them. I might say that I am quite a student in a way. Had I not waited so late in life to develop my mental faculties, I hardly think that I should have remained a butler. In fact, I am quite sure that I would not." "You're a queer fellow," mused the doctor. "What else have you deducted, Bates? Can you manage your tongue?" "Why do you ask that, doctor? If you mean, can I keep from talking too much, I can be very discreet." "All right, Bates; then I'll tell you that you were right. This woman has been murdered. The nature of the wound verifies your guess." Bates looked grieved. "You don't call it guessing?" His tone was protesting.