They all looked at the body, and Freylinghuisen knelt beside it and examined the injured hand; then he sat down by Dr. Hughes, and they were soon deep in a low-toned conversation, whose subject I could guess.  I could also guess what Simmonds and Godfrey were talking about in the farther corner; but I could not guess why Goldberger, instead of getting to work, should be walking up and down, pulling impatiently at his moustache and glancing at his watch now and then.  He seemed to be waiting for some one, but not until twenty minutes later did I suspect who it was.  Then the door opened again to admit a short, heavy-set man, with florid face, stubbly black moustache, and little, close-set eyes, preternaturally bright.  He glanced about the room, nodded to Goldberger, and then looked inquiringly at me.

“This is Mr. Lester, Commissioner Grady,” said Goldberger, and I realised that the chief of the detective bureau had come up from headquarters to take personal charge of the case.

“Mr. Lester is Mr. Vantine’s attorney,” the coroner added, in explanation.

“Glad to know you, Mr. Lester,” said Grady, shortly.

“And now, I guess, we’re ready to begin,” went on the coroner.

“Not quite,” said Grady, grimly.  “We’ll excuse all reporters, first,” and he looked across at Godfrey, his face darkening.

I felt my own face flushing, and started to protest, but Godfrey silenced me with a little gesture.

“It’s all right, Lester,” he said.  “Mr. Grady is quite within his rights.  I’ll withdraw—­until he sends for me.”

“You’ll have a long wait, then!” retorted Grady, with a sarcastic laugh.

“The longer I wait, the worse it will be for you, Mr. Grady,” said Godfrey quietly, opened the door and closed it behind him.

Grady stared after him for a moment in crimson amazement.  Then, mastering himself with an effort, he turned to the coroner.

“All right, Goldberger,” he said, and sat down to watch the proceedings.

A very few minutes sufficed for Hughes and Freylinghuisen and I to tell all we knew of this tragedy and of the one which had preceded it.  Grady seemed already acquainted with the details of d’Aurelle’s death, for he listened without interrupting, only nodding from time to time.

“You’ve got a list of the servants here, of course, Simmonds,” he said, when we had finished the story.

“Yes, sir,” and Simmonds handed it to him.  “H-m,” said Grady, as he glanced it over.  “Five of ’em.  Know anything about ’em?”

“They’ve all been with Mr. Vantine a long time, sir,” replied Simmonds.  “So far as I’ve been able to judge, they’re all right.”

“Which one of ’em found Vantine’s body?”

“Parks, I think,” I said.  “It was he who called me.”

“Better have him in,” said Grady, and doubled up the list and slipped it into his pocket.

Parks came in looking decidedly shaky; but answered Grady’s questions clearly and concisely.  He told first of the events of the afternoon, and then passed on to the evening.