"Here it is," said Coogan, opening a door.
The low room was dark and chill and musty, but its details started
forth from the obscurity as he turned up the lights.
Detective Coogan's words seemed to come from a great distance as he
said: "Here, you see, he was stabbed. The knife went to the heart. Here
he was hit with something heavy and blunt; but it had enough of an edge
to cut the scalp and lay the cheek open. The skull is broken. See here--"
I summoned my resolution and looked.
Disfigured and ghastly as it was, I recognized it. It was the face of
Henry Wilton.
The next I knew I was sitting on a bench, and the detective was holding
a bottle to my lips.
"There, take another swallow," he said, not unkindly. "I didn't know
you weren't used to it."
"Oh," I gasped, "I'm all right now." And I was able to look steadily at
the gruesome surroundings and the dreadful burden on the slab.
"Is this the man?" asked the detective.
"Yes."
"His name?"
"Dudley--James Dudley." I was not quite willing to transfer the whole
of my identity to the dead, and changed the Giles to James.
"Was he a relative?"
I shook my head, though I could not have said why I denied it. Then, in
answer to the detective's question, I told the story of the scuffle in
the alley, and of the events that followed.
"Did you see any of the men? To recognize them, I mean?"
I described the leader as well as I was able--the man with the face of
the wolf that I had seen in the lantern-flash.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37