Ellery dropped to his knees beside the body, Crane and Burrows trooping after with set faces. The Inspector sat down and watched with a humorless grin. Ellery turned the body over; his hands explored the rigid members, stiff in rigor mortis.

“Crane, Burrows, Miss Ickthorpe,” he said sharply. “Might as well begin now. Tell me what you see—Miss Ickthorpe, you first.” She jumped from the bed and ran around the dead man; he felt her hot unsteady breath on the back of his neck. “Well, well? Don’t you see anything? Good lord, there’s enough here, I should think.”

Miss Ickthorpe licked her red lips and said in a strangled voice: “He—he’s dressed in lounging-robe, carpet-slippers and—yes, silk underwear beneath.”

“Yes. And black silk socks and garters. And the robe and underwear bear the dealer’s label: Johnson’s, Johannesburg, U.S.Afr. What else?”

“A wrist-watch on his left wrist. I think”—she leaned over and with the shrinking tip of a finger nudged the dead arm—“Yes, the watch crystal is cracked. Why, it’s set at 10:20!”

“Good,” said Ellery in a soft voice. “Dad, did Prouty examine the cadaver?”

“Yes,” said the Inspector in a resigned voice. “Spargo died some time between 11:00 and 11:30, Doc says. I figure—”

Miss Ickthorpe’s eyes were shining. “Doesn’t that mean—?”

“Now, now, Miss Ickthorpe, if you have an idea keep it to yourself. Don’t leap at conclusions. That’s enough for you. Well, Crane?”

The young chemist’s brow was ridged. He pointed to the watch, a large gaudy affair with a leather wrist-strap. “Man’s watch. Concussion of fall stopped the works. Crease in leather strap at the second hole, where the prong now fits; but there’s also a crease, a deeper one, at the third hole.”

“That’s really excellent, Crane. And?”

“Left hand splattered and splashed with dried blood. Left palm also shows stain, but fainter, as if he had grabbed something with his bloody hand and wiped most of the blood off. There ought to be something around here showing a red smudge from his clutching hand. . . .”

“Crane, I’m proud of you. Was anything found with a blood-smear on it, dad?”

The Inspector looked interested. “Good work, youngster. No, El, nothing at all. Not even a smear on the rug. Must be something the murderer took away.”

“Now, Inspector,” chuckled Ellery, “this isn’t your examination. Burrows, can you add anything?”

Young Burrows swallowed rapidly: “Wounds on the head show he was struck with a heavy instrument many times. Disarranged rug probably indicates a struggle. And the face—”

“Ah! So you’ve noticed the face, eh? What about the face?”

“Freshly shaved. Talcum powder still on cheeks and chin. Don’t you think we ought to examine the bathroom, Mr. Queen?”