Barham hurried up the steps, quite forgetting to ask for the back staircase.
In fact, the sight of several policemen about, so took away his wits, he thought of little else for the instant.
Before Barham arrived, Hutchins had arranged things to give the least possible shock. Henry Post had been put on duty downstairs to see that no one took advantage of the detective’s absence to get away. Pearl Jane had been ensconced in Locke’s bedroom with Kate Vallon to look after her.
In the room with Mrs. Barham’s body were only the members of the Police Force, Doctor Gannett and Rodman Jarvis, who still expressed his willingness to act for Locke in any way he could.
Chinese Charley was still missing, and the officer who admitted Barham took him at once to the back stairs.
“It’s very bad, sir, and there’s a horde of curiosity seekers in the studio. This way, sir.”
Barham had directed Prall to accompany him, as he might need service of some sort.
The officer stumbled a little on the narrow dark stairs, and Barham impatiently passed him, exclaiming, “Hurry, man—I must see for myself!”
The first time, Prall observed to himself, he had ever seen the master excited. “And small wonder,” he added, as he himself began to feel a sense of horror.
Knowing better than to try to break such news slowly, Hutchins merely greeted Andrew Barham with a grave nod, and said, “There she is, sir.”
And Andrew Barham looked down on the body of his wife—whom he had seen last at dinner that same night—now, in gaudy array, and cold in death.
The man seemed turned to stone. At first his face showed incredulity, stark unbelief—then as he realized the
