I could not but
envy his admirable self-control.
"How long has he been dead?" Godfrey asked.
"Not more than two or three hours," the doctor answered. "The muscles
are just beginning to stiffen. It looks like murder," he added, and
touched the cord about the neck.
"It _is_ murder."
"You've notified the police?"
"They will be here soon."
I saw the doctor glance at Godfrey and then at me, plainly puzzled as
to our footing in the house; but if there was a question in his mind,
he kept it from his lips and turned back again to the huddled body.
"Any clue to the murderer?" he asked, at last.
"We have found none."
And then the doctor stooped suddenly and picked up something from the
floor beside the chair.
"Perhaps this is a clue," he said, quietly, and held to the light an
object which, as I sprang to my feet, I saw to be a blood-stained
handkerchief.
He spread it out under our eyes, handling it gingerly, for it was
still damp, and we saw it was a small handkerchief--a woman's
handkerchief--of delicate texture. It was fairly soaked with blood,
and yet in a peculiar manner, for two of the corners were much
crumpled but quite unstained.
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