Both had hitherto averted their eyes from the grisly object in the chair as much as possible, while taking in everything above, below and around it, but now, following the direction of the detective’s pointing finger, they saw protruding from the back of the neck, just above the collar, an unmistakable wooden knob, attached to a thin cord, most of it so embedded in the folds of the skin as to be invisible. Speechless, they nodded in agreement.

“Right!” said Mallett cheerfully. “That’s one thing settled, anyway. Now I don’t expect you fellows want to be in here any longer than you can help. Come into the other room.”

He consulted in low tones with one of his subordinates before leading the way into the front room. While he did so, Harper, his repugnance now conquered by curiosity, gazed with close interest at the face of the dead man. The body had been moved for the photographers to do their work, and it was possible for him now to look at the upturned features more closely. There was no trace of sympathy in the young man’s expression as he stared, but only a deep interest. It seemed unnatural that one who had probably never seen death before, and certainly not in such terrible guise, should be able to regard it with such passionless curiosity. So absorbed was he that he was evidently unaware that he too was the object of scrutiny from eyes no less observant than his own.

“Well?” said Mallett’s voice suddenly close behind him. “What are you staring at?”

Harper started, and is was an appreciable time before he could recover his self-possession. When he did speak, however, it was in his airiest and most superior tone. Lewis, listening, privately concluded that he had decided to assume his Oxford manner so as to impress upon the inspector that he was something more than an ordinary estate agent’s clerk.

“As a matter of fact. Inspector,” he said, “I was wondering why an obviously well-dressed man like that should have chosen to wear a green bow tie with a grey suit.”

The inspector grunted, but said nothing.

“Particularly”, pursued Harper, “when it isn’t even decently tied. I shouldn’t like to be seen dead in it myself.”

“Probably Ballantine wouldn’t either,” snapped Mallett. “If you’ve finished with the camera, cover that up, one of you, until it can be moved.” He strode out of the room, motioning the two young men to follow him.

“I shan’t keep you long,” said the inspector, when they were alone together. “I know who you are and why you were here. Just let me have a few details about the house. Whose is it?”

“Miss Penrose’s,” said Harper. “She is a client of ours, and is in Italy for the winter.”

“That is,” put in Lewis heavily, “Miss Penrose is the leaseholder. Actually the house belongs to Lord Minfield.”