The room was flooded with sunlight. Long French windows gave
access to a side veranda, which in turn led down to a beautiful
terrace and formal garden. But all these things were seen only
in a hurried glance, and then my eyes fell on the tragic figure
in the desk chair.

The body had not been moved, and would not be until after the
jury had seen it, and though a ghastly sight, because of a
bullet-hole in the left temple, otherwise it looked much as Mr.
Crawford must have looked in life.

A handsome man, of large physique and strong, stern face, he must
have been surprised, and killed instantly; for surely, given the
chance, he would have lacked neither courage nor strength to
grapple with an assailant.

I felt a deep impulse of sympathy for that splendid specimen of
humanity, taken unawares, without having been given a moment in
which to fight for his life, and yet presumably seeing his
murderer, as he seemed to have been shot directly from the front.

As I looked at that noble face, serene and dignified in its death
pallor, I felt glad that my profession was such as might lead to
the avenging of such a detestable crime.

And suddenly I had a revulsion of feeling against such petty
methods as deductions from trifling clues.

Moreover I remembered my totally mistaken deductions of that very
morning. Let other detectives learn the truth by such claptrap