"She is lying, Sperry," I said. "He fell somewhere else, and she
dragged him to where he was found."

"But--why?"

"I don't know," I said impatiently. "From some place where a man
would be unlikely to kill himself, I daresay. No one ever killed
himself, for instance, in an open hallway. Or stopped shaving to
do it."

"We have only Miss Jeremy's word for that," he said, sullenly.
"Confound it, Horace, don't let's bring in that stuff if we can
help it."

We stared at each other, with the strop and the sponge between us.
Suddenly he turned on his heel and went back into the room, and a
moment later he called me, quietly.

"You're right," he said. "The poor devil was shaving. He had it
half done. Come and look."

But I did not go. There was a carafe of water in the bathroom, and
I took a drink from it. My hands were shaking. When I turned
around I found Sperry in the hall, examining the carpet with his
flash light, and now and then stooping to run his hand over the
floor.

"Nothing here," he said in a low tone, when I had joined him. "At
least I haven't found anything."