following a crime, had proved of incalculable value in the subsequent
investigation.

In the present case, however, M. Pougeot was fairly taken aback by the
_lack_ of significant material. Everything in the room was as it should be,
table spread with snowy linen, two places set faultlessly among flowers and
flashing glasses, chairs in their places, pictures smiling down from the
white-and-gold walls, shaded electric lights diffusing a pleasant glow--in
short, no disorder, no sign of struggle, yet, there, stretched at full
length on the floor near a pale-yellow sofa, lay a man in evening dress,
his head resting, face downward, in a little red pool. He was evidently
dead.

"Has anything been disturbed here? Has anyone touched this body?" demanded
Pougeot sharply.

"No," said the doctor; "Gibelin came in with me, but neither of us touched
anything. We waited for you."

"I see. Ready, Leroy," and he proceeded to dictate what there was to say,
dwelling on two facts: that there was no sign of a weapon in the room and
that the long double window opening on the Rue Marboeuf was standing open.

"Now, doctor," he concluded, "we will look at the body."

Dr. Joubert's examination established at once the direct cause of death.
The man, a well-built young fellow of perhaps twenty-eight, had been shot
in the right eye, a ball having penetrated the brain, killing him
instantly. The face showed marks of flame and powder, proving that the
weapon--undoubtedly a pistol--had been discharged from a very short