The futility of the thing which he had told himself was faith gripped at him sickeningly, yet he fought for that faith, even as his eyes looked again upon the ghastly torture that was in Kedsty's face.
He was becoming calmer.

He touched the dead man's cheek and found that it was no longer warm.

The tragedy must have occurred an hour before.
He examined more closely the abrasion on Kedsty's forehead.

It was not a deep wound, and the blow that had made it must have stunned the Inspector of Police for only a short time.

In that space the other thing had happened.