Harper was the first through the door. He stopped in the entrance, and as Lewis was about to follow, held him back.

“Just a moment,” he said gently. “I think there’s something here that isn’t in the inventory.”

The telephone bell rang in the police station which was at the corner of Upper Daylesford Street and the Fulham Road. Sergeant Tapper, who was a conscientious officer, made a note of the time before he answered it. It was 11.31 a.m. He put the receiver to his ear, and at first could make nothing of the message. He heard a succession of gasps, as if the speaker had been running fast. Finally a thick voice exclaimed: “Murder, murder! Come at once!”

“What do you say?” barked Tapper. “Who are you? Where——?”

“I say there’s been a murder——” repeated the voice. There was a moment’s silence, and the sergeant thought he had been cut off. Then a quiet, cultured voice broke in:

“I’m speaking from 27 Daylesford Gardens. Mr. Lionel Ballantine’s body is here. Will you come and remove it, please? . . Yes, certainly I’ll wait for you. Good-bye.”

Tapper leapt from his chair with a speed that would have been remarkable in a younger man. Within a bare half-minute of putting down the receiver he was out of the police station, a young constable at his heels, while at the telephone another officer sent an urgent message to Scotland Yard.

At the door of No. 27 the officers found the two young men awaiting them. Both had the appearance of having recently been through an unpleasant experience. Of the two, Harper was noticeably the cooler. It was he who greeted Tapper.

“Glad to see you, sergeant,” he said. “You will find him in the room at the back. Nothing has been touched.”

They followed the policeman through the hall into the smoking-room. The blind was down and the electric light burning. The contrast to the light of day outside gave a touch of unreality to the scene. There was a moment’s silence, as all gazed at the corpse. Here was no dignity in death, no repose. The sprawled, stiffened figure was like a monstrous marionette, hideous, grotesque, unseemly.

The sergeant bent over the remains for an instant, then straightened himself.

“The divisional surgeon will be here in a minute or two, I expect,” he said. “Not that there will be much for him to do, it seems. Then I’m expecting a senior officer from the Yard. You can keep your full statements for him. Meanwhile I’ll just take down a few particulars.” He produced his notebook. “Names and addresses, please,” he began, and, these transcribed, continued: “Which of you was it that telephoned?”

“I did,” answered Harper. “That is, mine was, I think, the effective message. My friend here actually had the first words, but I don’t think they carried very much weight.”