identical wound in the case of an Italian woman stabbed by a jealous
rival."

"He would fall on his back."

"Oh, no. He would fall on his face, almost certainly."

"But he lies on his back."

"In my opinion he had been moved."

"Right. I know he had. Good night, doctor. See him out, Inspector."

Dr. Weston seemed rather startled by this abrupt dismissal, but the
steel-blue eyes of Inspector Kerry were already bent again upon the
dead man, and, murmuring "good night," the doctor took his departure,
followed by Whiteleaf.

"Shut this door," snapped Kerry after the Inspector. "I will call when
I want you. You stay, Coombes. Got it all down?"

Sergeant Coombes scratched his head with the end of a pencil, and:

"Yes," he said, with hesitancy. "That is, except the word after
'narrow-bladed weapon such as a' I've got what looks like
'steelhatto.'"

Kerry glared.

"Try taking the cotton-wool out of your ears," he suggested. "The word