Mr. Exel, tapping his boot with the head of his inverted cane, was
staring fixedly at the doctor.

"Here you are, Leroux," said Cumberly; "drink this up, and let us
arrange our facts in decent order before we--"

"Phone for the police?" concluded Exel, his gaze upon the last speaker.

Leroux drank the brandy at a gulp and put down the glass upon a little
persian coffee table with a hand which he had somehow contrived to
steady.

"You are keen on the official forms, Exel?" he said, with a wry smile.
"Please accept my apology for my recent--er--outburst, but picture this
thing happening in your place!"

"I cannot," declared Exel, bluntly.

"You lack imagination," said Cumberly. "Take a whisky and soda, and help
me to search the flat."

"Search the flat!"

The physician raised a forefinger, forensically.

"Since you, Exel, if not actually in the building, must certainly have
been within sight of the street entrance at the moment of the crime, and
since Leroux and I descended the stair and met you on the landing, it is
reasonable to suppose that the assassin can only be in one place: HERE!"