“A crime has been committed upstairs,” he said.  “This gentleman with me is Mr. Simmonds, of the detective bureau,” and at the words Simmonds showed his shield.  “We shall have to notify headquarters,” Godfrey went on, “and I would advise that you keep your girls at their work.  I don’t suppose you want to be mixed up in it.”

“Sure not,” agreed the manager promptly, and while Simmonds went to the ’phone and called up police headquarters, the manager dismounted from his throne, went down among the girls, and had them back at their work in short order.

Godfrey came over to me and laid his hand on my shoulder.

“Why, Lester,” he said, “you look as though you were at your last gasp.”

“I am,” I said.  “I’m going to have nervous prostration if this thing keeps up.  You’re not looking particularly happy yourself.”

“I’m not happy.  I’ve let that fellow kill a man right under my nose —­literally, under my nose!—­and then get away!”

“Kill a man?” I repeated.  “Do you mean....”

“Go upstairs and look at the right hand of the man lying there,” said Godfrey, curtly, “and you’ll see what I mean!”

I sat staring at him, unable to believe that I had heard aright; unable to believe that Godfrey had really uttered those words ... the right hand of the man lying there ... that could mean only one thing....

Simmonds joined us with a twisted smile on his lips, and I saw that even he was considerably shaken.

“I got Grady,” he said, “and told him what had happened.  He says he’s too busy to come up, and that I’m to take charge of things.”

Godfrey laughed a little mocking laugh.

“Grady foresees his Waterloo!” he said.  “Well, it’s not far distant.  But I’m glad for your sake, Simmonds—­you’re going to get some glory out of this thing, yet!”

“I hope so,” and Simmonds’s eyes gleamed an instant.  “The ambulance will be around at once,” he added.  “We’d better get our shoes on, and go back upstairs, and see if anything can be done for that fellow.”

“There can’t anything be done for him,” said Godfrey wearily; “but we’d better have a look at him, I guess,” and he led the way out into the hall.

Not until Simmonds spoke did I remember that I was shoeless.  Now I sat down beside Godfrey, got fumblingly into my shoes again, and then followed him and Simmonds slowly up the stair.

I thought I knew what was passing in Godfrey’s mind:  he was blaming himself for this latest tragedy; he was telling himself that he should have foreseen and prevented it; he always blamed himself in that way when things went wrong—­and then, to have the murderer slip through his very fingers!  I could guess what a mighty shock that had been to his self-confidence!

The latest victim was lying where he had fallen, just inside the doorway leading into the inner room.  Simmonds stepped to the window, threw open the shutters, and let a flood of afternoon sunshine into the room.  Then he knelt beside the body, and held up the limp right hand for us to see.