Beresford persisted in his questions.
"Who killed him?
That's what I want to know!" he continued, nervously puffing his cigarette.
"Well, you're not alone in that," said Anderson in his grimly humorous vein.
The Doctor motioned nervously to them both.
"As the coroner--if Mr.Anderson is satisfied--I suggest that the body be taken where I can make a thorough examination," he said haltingly.
Once more Anderson bent over the shell that had been Richard Fleming.
He turned the body half-over--let it sink back on its face.

For a moment he glanced at the corner of the blue-print in his hand, then at the Doctor.

Then he stood aside.
"All right," he said laconically.
So Richard Fleming left the room where he had been struck down so suddenly and strangely--borne out by Beresford, the Doctor, and Jack Bailey.

The little procession moved as swiftly and softly as circumstances would permit--Anderson followed its passage with watchful eyes.

Billy went mechanically to pick up the stained rug which the detective had kicked aside and carried it off after the body.