THE BIG FIVE at Scotland Yard filled d**k Martin’s dining-room, waiting for the verdict of the medical man who had been hastily summoned. The doctor came in in a few minutes.
“So far as I can tell by a superficial examination,” he said, “he’s been dead for some hours, and was either strangled or his neck was broken.”
In spite of his self-control, d**k shivered. He had slept in the room that night, where, behind the polished door, lay that ghastly secret.
“There was no sign of a struggle, Martin?” asked one of the officers.
“None whatever,” said d**k emphatically. “I am inclined to agree with the doctor: I should think that he was struck by something heavy and killed instantly. But how they got into the flat, God knows!”
Inquiries of the girl who worked the night elevator were unsatisf
