“The Players’. Don’t hesitate to ask all the direct questions you wish. I know how necessary they are.”
But this willingness seemed to take away Dickson’s desire to make inquiries, and he only said, “There’s plenty of time ahead for all that.”
“There will be an inquest?” Barham asked.
“Yes; but don’t feel obliged to attend, Mr. Barham, unless you like. I can arrange so that you needn’t.”
“Oh, yes—I propose to help with this search for the criminal. And I can do it better if I follow the course of the inquiries. But I can do it better yet, if I can sometimes follow them unobserved. I will, therefore, if I see fit, sit in the back of the room, or some obscure corner. You see—” he set his fine white teeth together in a determined way—“you see, somebody did this thing—you are sure—” he broke off suddenly to say to Doctor Babcock, “you are positive it could not have been an accident?”
“Positive.”
“I ask again, because I didn’t see the body when it was on the floor. And—I confess I would rather it had been an accident. Who could have wanted to put an end to the life of my young and beautiful Madeleine?”
It was the first time he had spoken thus—as if he were alone—but he quickly resumed his outer manner of composure.
“Then if you are sure, there was a murderer—find him!”
His tone was that of an ultimatum, his air one of finality, and rising, he began to pace the room.
Nor did he speak again until he was informed that the undertaker’s men had arrived.
Then he superintended the removal of the body himself, he went downstairs without so much as a glance at the few curious ones who were rude enough to peer out from the
