was opened by a white-faced servant, he told himself that he should, for
a veritable miasma of death seemed to come out to meet him, to envelop
him.

Within, proceeded a subdued activity: somber figures moved upon the
staircase; and Inspector Dunbar, having presented his card, presently
found himself in a well-appointed library.

At the table, whereon were spread a number of documents, sat a lean,
clean-shaven, sallow-faced man, wearing gold-rimmed pince-nez; a man
whose demeanor of business-like gloom was most admirably adapted to that
place and occasion. This was Mr. Debnam, the solicitor. He gravely
waved the detective to an armchair, adjusted his pince-nez, and coughed,
introductorily.

"Your communication, Inspector," he began (he had the kind of voice
which seems to be buried in sawdust packing), "was brought to me this
morning, and has disturbed me immeasurably, unspeakably."

"You have been to view the body, sir?"

"One of my clerks, who knew Mrs. Vernon, has just returned to this house
to report that he has identified her."

"I should have preferred you to have gone yourself, sir," began Dunbar,
taking out his notebook.

"My state of health, Inspector," said the solicitor, "renders it
undesirable that I should submit myself to an ordeal so unnecessary--so
wholly unnecessary."