The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet | Page 4

exclamation; then his voice calling me.
"Lester! Come here!" he cried.
I ran back along the hall, into the room which he had entered. He was
standing just inside the door.
"Look there," he said, with a queer catch in his voice, and pointed with
a trembling hand to a dark object on the floor.
I moved aside to see it better. Then my heart gave a sickening throb; for
the object on the floor was the body of a man.

CHAPTER II
THE FIRST TRAGEDY
It needed but a glance to tell me that the man was dead. There could be
no life in that livid face, in those glassy eyes.
"Don't touch him," I said, for Vantine had started forward. "It's too
late."

I drew him back, and we stood for a moment shaken as one always is
by sudden and unexpected contact with death.
"Who is he?" I asked, at last.
"I don't know," answered Vantine hoarsely. "I never saw him before."
Then he strode to the bell and rang it violently. "Parks," he went on
sternly, as that worthy appeared at the door, "what has been going on in
here?"
"Going on, sir?" repeated Parks, with a look of amazement, not only at
the words, but at the tone in which they were uttered. "I'm sure I don't
know what--"
Then his glance fell upon the huddled body, and he stopped short, his
eyes staring, his mouth open.
"Well," said his master, sharply. "Who is he? What is he doing here?"
"Why--why," stammered Parks, thickly, "that's the man who was
waiting to see you, sir."
"You mean he has been killed in this house?" demanded Vantine.
"He was certainly alive when he came in, sir," said Parks, recovering
something of his self-possession. "Maybe he was just looking for a
quiet place where he could kill himself. He seemed kind of excited."
"Of course," agreed Vantine, with a sigh of relief, "that's the
explanation. Only I wish he had chosen some place else. I suppose we
shall have to call the police, Lester?"
"Yes," I said, "and the coroner. Suppose you leave it to me. We'll lock
up this room, and nobody must leave the house until the police arrive."
"Very well," assented Vantine, visibly relieved, "I'll see to that," and he
hastened away, while I went to the 'phone, called up police
headquarters, and told briefly what had happened.

Twenty minutes later, there was a ring at the bell, and Parks opened the
door and admitted four men.
"Why, hello, Simmonds," I said, recognising in the first one the
detective-sergeant who had assisted in clearing up the Marathon
mystery. And back of him was Coroner Goldberger, whom I had met in
two previous cases; while the third countenance, looking at me with a
quizzical smile, was that of Jim Godfrey, the _Record's_ star reporter.
The fourth man was a policeman in uniform, who, at a word from
Simmonds, took his station at the door.
"Yes," said Godfrey, as we shook hands, "I happened to be talking to
Simmonds when the call came in, and I thought I might as well come
along. What is it?"
"Just a suicide, I think," and I unlocked the door into the room where
the dead man lay.
Simmonds, Goldberger and Godfrey stepped inside. I followed and
closed the door.
"Nothing has been disturbed," I said. "No one has touched the body."
Simmonds nodded, and glanced inquiringly about the room; but
Godfrey's eyes, I noticed, were on the face of the dead man. Goldberger
dropped to his knees beside the body, looked into the eyes and touched
his fingers to the left wrist. Then he stood erect again and looked down
at the body, and as I followed his gaze, I noted its attitude more
accurately than I had done in the first shock of discovering it.
It was lying on its right side, half on its stomach, with its right arm
doubled under it, and its left hand clutching at the floor above its head.
The knees were drawn up as though in a convulsion, and the face was
horribly contorted, with a sort of purple tinge under the skin, as though
the blood had been suddenly congealed. The eyes were wide open, and
their glassy stare added not a little to the apparent terror and suffering
of the face. It was not a pleasant sight, and after a moment, I turned my
eyes away with a shiver of repugnance.

The coroner glanced at Simmonds.
"Not much question as to the cause," he said. "Poison of course."
"Of course," nodded Simmonds.
"But what kind?" asked Godfrey.
"It will take a post-mortem to tell that," and Goldberger bent for
another close look at the distorted face. "I'm free to admit the
symptoms aren't