A look of something like respect came into Osborne's face. Clearly the
question was one which he considered worth while.

"There is a scuttle," he replied. "The bolt is rusted and broken; it
has probably not been fastened for months, perhaps years."

"Now we are beginning to come at something," cried Stillman, well
pleased. "In all probability the assassin entered by way of the
scuttle." He turned as though for the approval of the stolid-faced
man. "Eh, Curran? What do you think of that?"

"It looks very like it, Mr. Stillman."

"At all events," spoke the coroner, "we will now examine the rooms."

He advanced and tried the door of the show room.

"Ah, locked!" said he. He turned and entered the store room, the
others following. The gas was still burning; the coroner stuck a pair
of big-lensed eyeglasses upon his rather high nose and gazed about him
intently.

"There seems to be nothing of an informing nature here," said he,
after a time. "Where is the body?"

Osborne led the way into the front room. After a glance at the
ghastly, huddled figure upon the carpet near the desk, the coroner
took a careful survey of the apartment.