chanced to come upon him, so he murdered him and escaped.”
“That’s how I read it,” said Barker. “But, I say, aren’t we wasting precious time? Couldn’t we start out and scour the country before the fellow gets away?”
The Sergeant considered for a moment.
“There are no trains before six in the morning; so he can’t get away by rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it’s odds that someone will notice him. Anyhow, I can’t leave here myself until I am relieved. But I think none of you should go until we see more clearly how we all stand.”
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the body. “What’s this mark?” he asked. “Could this have any connection with the crime?”
The dead man’s right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown, and exposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm was a curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out in vivid relief upon the lard-colored skin.
“It’s not tattooed,” said the doctor, peering
