CHAPTER 4
It was half past twelve when Mr Reeder’s taxi brought him into Shadwick Lane, which was alive with people. A police cordon was drawn across the gate, but Gaylor, who was waiting for him, conducted him into the yard.
“We’re dragging the river for the body,” he explained.
“Where was it committed?” asked Mr Reeder.
“Come inside,” said the other grimly, “and then you will ask no questions.”
It was not a pleasant sight that met Mr Reeder’s eyes, though he was a man not easily sickened. The little sitting-room was a confusion of smashed furniture, the walls splashed with red. A corner table, however, had been left untouched. Here were two glasses of whisky, one full, the other half empty. A half smoked cigar was carefully laid on a piece of paper by the side of these.
“The murder
