Astro passed through the little door in the counter with McGraw, and together they bent over the body.
"There's no blood at all!" said the officer in amazement. "What is it, anyway? He can't be shot!"
Astro made no reply for some moments, but examined every detail of the body with care. At last he rose. "Thompson," he said, "have you a gun?"
"Why, no sir!" Thompson spoke anxiously. "At least, I ain't got any with me. I got one down in the boiler-room, though. I don't carry it all the time, sir."
"Go down and get it!" Astro spoke sharply. "Bring it to me! No, Dennis, you stay right here. Thompson, take the elevator down yourself. Tell the officers to telephone for a doctor."
The watchman left without a word, shaking his head. The elevator boy sat down on a chair outside the counter and gazed dismally into the corridor.
Astro stood for several minutes silently looking about the room. His eyes went from the drawing-board, where the perspective view of a country residence had been roughly sketched in pencil, past the ground-glass windows which admitted light from a side hall opposite the elevator, to the doors of an inner room. Valeska's eyes followed his in careful search of the room.
McGraw still stared in amazement at the body, looking for some sign of a bullet wound, but without success. At last he arose, and gazed long at Astro.
"He's dead, all right," he said finally; "but hanged if I can see what killed him! Could it be suicide? Perhaps we can find some poison, somewhere. Look in the dressing-room."
"He's shot," said Astro, without looking at the
