YAWNING and bewailing the fortune that had pulled him out of bed within half an hour after he had managed to get to sleep, Detective Sam Haynes reached Brayton’s office to find Satchley and the two plain-clothes men sitting in the front room awaiting him. Frand had brought him up in the elevator—a white-faced Frand, who seemed about to go to pieces in face of the tragedy.
“Notified the medical examiner?” Haynes asked as soon as he entered the room.
“Yes,” one of the plain-clothes men replied. “Here is one of his assistants now.”
The assistant entered and made a quick examination of the body. He stated that death had been almost instantaneous, and had resulted from a single bullet wound. Then he went away to make his report to his superior, and the body was removed.
Detective Sam Haynes
