But they told nothing.
If there had been a scrap of writing within view or in his desk----" "It was not on his person?
You had his pockets searched, his clothes----" "A man who has died from violence is always searched, madam.

I leave no stone unturned in a mysterious case like this." Miss Butterworth's face assumed an indefinable expression of satisfaction, which did not escape Mr.Gryce's eye, though that member was fixed, according to his old habit, on the miniature of her father which she wore, in defiance of fashion, at her throat.
"I wonder," said she, in a musing tone, "if I imagined or really saw on Mr.Adams's face a most extraordinary expression; something more than the surprise or anguish following a mortal blow?
A look of determination, arguing some superhuman resolve taken at the moment of death, or--can you read that face for me?
Or did you fail to perceive aught of what I say?
It would really be an aid to me at this moment to know." "I noted that look.

It was not a common one.

But I cannot read it for you----" "I wonder if the young man you call Sweetwater can.

I certainly think it has a decided bearing on this mystery; such a fold to the lips, such a look of mingled grief and--what was that you said?
Sweetwater has not been admitted to the room of death?
Well, well, I shall have to make my own suggestion, then.