“The unfortunate man has had his throat cut,” Saniel said.  “Death must have occurred two or three hours ago.  There is nothing to do.”

“Speak for yourself, doctor.”

And, stooping, he picked up the knife.

“Is it not a butcher’s knife?” asked Saniel, who could only use this word.

“It looks like it.”

He had raised Caffie’s head and examined the wound.

“You see,” he said, “that the victim has been butchered.  The stroke was from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle this knife.  But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done this deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed to insure a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a silent one.”

“You think it was done by a butcher?”

“By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, and with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins.  As the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able to cry out; considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in one or two minutes.”

“The scene appears to me very well reconstructed.”

“The blood should have burst out in this direction,” Saniel continued, pointing to the door.  “But as this door was open, nothing is to be seen.”

While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room—­the glance of the police, which takes in everything.

“The safe is open,” he said.  “The affair becomes clear; the assassination was followed by theft.”

There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner opened; it was that of Caffie’s bedroom.

“I will give you a man to help you carry the body into this room, where you can continue your examination more easily, while I will continue my investigations in this office.”

Saniel would have liked to remain in the office to assist at these investigations, but it was impossible to raise an objection.  The chair was rolled into the bedroom, where two candles had been lighted on the mantel, and when the body was laid on the bed, the commissioner returned to the office.

Saniel made his examination last as long a time as possible, to the end that he need not leave the house; but he could not prolong it beyond certain limits.  When they were reached, he returned to the clerk’s office, where the commissioner had installed himself, and was hearing the concierge’s deposition.

“And so,” he said, “from five to seven o’clock no one asked for M. Caffie?”

“No one.  But I left my lodge at a quarter past five to light the gas on the stairs; that took me twenty minutes, because I am stiff in my joints, and during this time some one might have gone up and down the stairs without my seeing them.”

“Well,” the commissioner said, turning to Saniel, “have you found any distinguishing feature?”