They all listened--they all heard it.

"It's a watch ticking," answered Darcy. "First I thought it was her
heart beating--it sounded so. But it's only a watch."

"Maybe so," assented Casey. "We'd better make sure before we telephone
for the police. She may only have fallen and cut her head."

"You--you go and see," suggested Tremlain. "I--I don't like to go near
her--I never could bear the sight of dead folks--not even my own
father. You look!"

Casey hesitated a moment, and then stepped closer to the body. He
leaned over it and put the backs of his hard fingers on the white,
wrinkled and shrunken cheeks. They were cold and wax-like to his touch.

"She's dead," he whispered softly. "Better get the police right away."

"Murdered?" asked Tremlain, who had remained beside Darcy near the
showcase where the silver gleamed.

"I don't know. Her head's cut bad, though there's not so much blood as
I thought at first. We mustn't touch the body--that's the law. Got to
leave it until the coroner sees it. Where's the telephone?"

"Right back here," answered Darcy eagerly. "Police headquarters number
is--"

"I know it," interrupted Casey. "I had to call 'em up once when I had
a horse stole. I'll get 'em. What's that watch ticking?" he asked,