midnight last night by his partner, Mr. Lockwood. There seem to be
no clues to how or by whom he was murdered. No locks had been
broken. I have examined the hall-boy who was here last night. He
seems to be off his post a good deal when it is late. He saw Mr.
Lockwood come in, and took him in the elevator up to the sixth
floor. After that we can find nothing but the open door into the
apartment. It is not at all impossible that some one might have
come in when the boy was off his post, have walked up, even have
walked down, the stairs again. In fact, it must have been that
way. No windows, not even on the fire-escape, have been tampered
with. In fact, the murder must have been done by some one admitted
to the apartment late by Mendoza himself."

We walked over to the couch on which lay the body covered by a
sheet. Dr. Leslie drew down the sheet.

On the face was a most awful look, a terrible stare and contortion
of the features, and a deep, almost purple, discoloration. The
muscles were all tense and rigid. I shall never forget that face
and its look, half of pain, half of fear, as if of something
nameless.

Mendoza had been a heavy-set man, whose piercing black eyes
beetled forth, in life, from under bushy brows. Even in death,
barring that horrible look, he was rather distinguished-looking,
and his close-cropped hair and moustache set him off as a man of
affairs and consequence in his own country.

"Most peculiar, Kennedy," reiterated Dr. Leslie, pointing to the
breast. "You see that wound? I can't quite determine whether that