The Middle of Things | Page 5

he
thought he had remembered in some vague fashion; the other the fact
that a policeman was slowly pacing up the terrace close by. He turned

and ran swiftly up the still deserted passage. And there was the
policeman, twenty yards away, coming along with the leisureliness of
one who knows that he has a certain area to patrol. He pulled himself to
an attitude of watchful attention as Viner ran up to him; then suddenly
recognizing Viner as a well-known inhabitant of the Square, touched
the rim of his helmet.
"I say!" said Viner in the hushed voice of one who imparts strange and
confidential tidings. "There's a man lying dead in the passage round
here. And without doubt murdered! There's blood all over his
shirt-front."
The policeman stood stock still for the fraction of a second. Then he
pulled out his whistle and blew loudly and insistently. Before the shrill
call had died away, he was striding towards the passage, with Viner at
his side.
"Did you find him, Mr. Viner?" he asked.
"I found him," asserted Viner. "Just now--halfway down the passage!"
"Sure he's dead, sir?"
"Dead--yes! And murdered, too! And--"
He was about to mention the hurrying young man, but they had just
then arrived at the mouth of the passage, and the policeman once more
drew out his whistle and blew more insistently than before.
"There's my sergeant and inspector not far off," he remarked. "Some of
'em'll be on the spot in a minute or two. Now then, sir."
He marched down the passage to the dead man, glanced at the lamp,
and turning on his own lantern, directed its light on the body.
"God bless me!" he muttered. "Mr. Ashton!"
"You know him?" said Viner.

"Gent that came to live at number seven in your square a while back,
Mr. Viner," answered the policeman. "Australian or New Zealander, I
fancy. He's gone right enough, sir! And--knifed! You didn't see
anybody about, sir?"
"Yes," replied Viner, "that's just it. As I turned into the passage, I met a
young fellow running out of it in a great hurry--he ran into me, and
then, shot off across the road, Westbourne Grove way. Then I came
along and found--this!"
The policeman bent lower and suddenly put a knowing finger on
certain of the dead man's pockets.
"Robbed!" he said. "No watch there, anyway, and nothing where you'd
expect to find his purse. Robbery and murder--murder for the sake of
robbery--that's what it is, Mr. Viner! Westbourne Grove way, you say
this fellow went? And five minutes' start!"
"Is it any good getting a doctor?" asked Viner.
"A thousand doctors'll do him no good," replied the policeman grimly.
"But--there's Dr. Cortelyon somewhere about here--number seven in
the terrace. One of these back doors is his. We might call him."
He turned the light of his lantern on the line of doors in the right-hand
wall, and finding the number he wanted, pulled the bell. As its tinkle
sounded somewhere up the yard behind, he thrust his whistle into
Viner's hand.
"Mr. Viner," he said, "go up to the end of the passage and blow on that
as loud as you can, three times. I'll stand by here till you come back. If
you don't hear or see any of our people coming from either direction,
blow again."
Viner heard steps coming down the yard behind the door as he walked
away. And he heard more steps, hurrying steps, as he reached the end
of the passage. He turned it to find an inspector and a sergeant
approaching from one part of the terrace, a constable from another.

"You're wanted down here," said Viner as they all converged on him.
"There's been murder! One of your men's there--he gave me this
whistle to summon further help. This way!"
The police followed him in silence down the passage. Another figure
had come on the scene. Bending over the body and closely scrutinizing
it in the light of the policeman's lantern was a man whom Viner knew
well enough by sight--a tall, handsome man, whose olive-tinted
complexion, large lustrous eyes and Vandyke beard gave him the
appearance of a foreigner. Yet though he had often seen him, Viner did
not know his name; the police-inspector, however, evidently knew it
well enough.
"What is it, Dr. Cortelyon?" he asked as he pushed himself to the front.
"Is the man dead?"
Dr. Cortelyon drew himself up from his stooping position to his full
height--a striking figure in his dress jacket and immaculate linen. He
glanced round at the expectant faces.
"The man's been murdered!" he said in calm, professional accents.
"He's been stabbed clean through the heart. Dead? Yes, for several
minutes."
"Who found him here?" demanded the inspector.
"I found him," answered Viner. He