across his chest was a curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrel
sawed off a foot in front of the triggers. It was clear that
this had been fired at close range and that he had received the
whole charge in the face, blowing his head almost to pieces. The
triggers had been wired together, so as to make the simultaneous
discharge more destructive.

The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendous
responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "We will
touch nothing until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushed
voice, staring in horror at the dreadful head.

"Nothing has been touched up to now," said Cecil Barker. "I'll
answer for that. You see it all exactly as I found it."

"When was that?" The sergeant had drawn out his notebook.

"It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress, and I
was sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report.
It was not very loud--it seemed to be muffled. I rushed down--I
don't suppose it was thirty seconds before I was in the room."

"Was the door open?"

"Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. His
bedroom candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit the
lamp some minutes afterward."

"Did you see no one?"