Jimmie Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters gathered around the police inspector.
"Now, then," said Clayton coarsely, "the guy that's croaked there is Metzer, Jake Metzer.

Get that ?" Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest, turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the fraction of an inch.

Both gas jets in the room were turned on full, giving ample light.

A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty, lay upon his back on the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread, the other dangling, with fingers just touching the floor, the head at an angle and off the pillow.

It was as though he had been carried to the bed and flung upon it after the deed had been committed.