I started on, and he turned through a doorway at the left.

An instant later, I heard a sharp exclamation; then his voice calling me.

“Lester!  Come here!” he cried.

I ran back along the hall, into the room which he had entered.  He was standing just inside the door.

“Look there,” he said, with a queer catch in his voice, and pointed with a trembling hand to a dark object on the floor.

I moved aside to see it better.  Then my heart gave a sickening throb; for the object on the floor was the body of a man.

CHAPTER II

THE FIRST TRAGEDY

It needed but a glance to tell me that the man was dead.  There could be no life in that livid face, in those glassy eyes.

“Don’t touch him,” I said, for Vantine had started forward.  “It’s too late.”

I drew him back, and we stood for a moment shaken as one always is by sudden and unexpected contact with death.

“Who is he?” I asked, at last.

“I don’t know,” answered Vantine hoarsely.  “I never saw him before.”  Then he strode to the bell and rang it violently.  “Parks,” he went on sternly, as that worthy appeared at the door, “what has been going on in here?”

“Going on, sir?” repeated Parks, with a look of amazement, not only at the words, but at the tone in which they were uttered.  “I’m sure I don’t know what—­”

Then his glance fell upon the huddled body, and he stopped short, his eyes staring, his mouth open.

“Well,” said his master, sharply.  “Who is he?  What is he doing here?”

“Why—­why,” stammered Parks, thickly, “that’s the man who was waiting to see you, sir.”

“You mean he has been killed in this house?” demanded Vantine.

“He was certainly alive when he came in, sir,” said Parks, recovering something of his self-possession.  “Maybe he was just looking for a quiet place where he could kill himself.  He seemed kind of excited.”

“Of course,” agreed Vantine, with a sigh of relief, “that’s the explanation.  Only I wish he had chosen some place else.  I suppose we shall have to call the police, Lester?”

“Yes,” I said, “and the coroner.  Suppose you leave it to me.  We’ll lock up this room, and nobody must leave the house until the police arrive.”

“Very well,” assented Vantine, visibly relieved, “I’ll see to that,” and he hastened away, while I went to the ’phone, called up police headquarters, and told briefly what had happened.

Twenty minutes later, there was a ring at the bell, and Parks opened the door and admitted four men.

“Why, hello, Simmonds,” I said, recognising in the first one the detective-sergeant who had assisted in clearing up the Marathon mystery.  And back of him was Coroner Goldberger, whom I had met in two previous cases; while the third countenance, looking at me with a quizzical smile, was that of Jim Godfrey, the Record’s star reporter.  The fourth man was a policeman in uniform, who, at a word from Simmonds, took his station at the door.