purple feet. The sight was a terrible one even to the medical eye. Every portion of the unfortunate young man was in a condition of extreme muscular spasm.
"There is no doubt that he is dead, poor chap," said my companion; "and it looks like poison—perhaps strychnine! Look about you, Mr. d'Escombe; but don't touch or move anything. We must send for the police at once."
We made a careful but superficial examination of the body, and looked closely for anything, either in the shape of a bottle or glass, which could have contained the fatal dose. But we found nothing.
"We can do no more at present," declared the doctor, before many minutes were over; and as we left the room and its horrors, he carefully locked the door and took the key, which he found on the inside of the lock.
We then went to the bedroom of the dead baronet. I followed, although it was nothing really to do with me, meeting on the way the still half-dazed Roberts, whom we had sent to the police-station.
The lady of the house, subdued and tearful, met us as we entered. Her son was behind her, looking anxious and distraught.
