CHAPTER III.--THE CRIME
It was the next morning, Sunday morning, a few minutes after eight. Inspector Romilly had just come on duty at the Police headquarters in Victoria Square when the telephone bell rang sharply. He picked up the receiver.
"Police headquarters, Inspector Romilly, what is it? What--where--at Clyde House, Glenelg? At Mr. McIver's--what, Mr. McIver himself? Good Lord! Who's speaking?"
For about a minute the inspector stood intently listening; then he rapped out quickly,
"All right, we'll be there in less than half an hour. Leave everything exactly as it is and see that no one goes off the premises till I come, you understand? Be very strict about it," and he hung up the receiver with a jerk.
"Murder, Sergeant," he said with a very white face to another officer in the
