before.  By that time they had sent for me.  We broke in.  There was Shirley, alone, fully dressed, lying on the floor before a writing-table.  His face was horribly set, as though he had perhaps seen something that frightened and haunted him—­though I suppose it might have been the pain that did it.  I think he must have heard something, jumped from the chair, perhaps in fear, then have fallen down on the floor almost immediately.

“We hurried over to him.  He was still alive, but could not speak.  I turned him over, tried to rouse him and make him comfortable.  It was only then that I saw that he was really conscious.  But it seemed as if his tongue and most of his muscles were paralyzed.  Somehow he managed to convey to us the idea that it was his heart that troubled him most.

“Really, at first I thought it was a case of suicide.  But there was no sign of a weapon about and not a trace of poison—­no glass, no packet.  There was no wound on him, either—­except a few slight cuts and scratches on his face and hands.  But none of them looked to be serious.  And yet, before we could get the house physician up to him he was dead.”

“And with not a word?” queried Kennedy.

“That’s the strangest part of it.  No; not a word spoken.  But as he lay there, even in spite of his paralyzed muscles, he was just able to motion with his hands.  I thought he wanted to write, and gave him a pencil and a piece of paper.  He clutched at them, but here is all he was able to do.”

Grady drew from his pocket a piece of paper and handed it to us.  On it were printed in trembling, irregular characters, “G A D,” the “D” scarcely finished and trailing off into nothing.

What did it all mean?  How had Shirley met his death, and why?

“Tell me something about him,” said Kennedy, studying the paper with a frown.  Grady shrugged his shoulders.

“An Englishman—­that’s about all I know.  Looked like one of the younger sons who so frequently go out to seek their fortunes in the colonies.  By his appearance, I should say he had been in the Far East—­India, no doubt.  And I imagine he had made good.  He seemed to have plenty of money.  That’s all I know about him.”

“Is anything missing from his room?” I asked.  “Could it have been a robbery?”

“I searched the room hastily,” replied Grady.  “Apparently not a thing had been touched.  I don’t think it was robbery.”

By this time we had made our way through the lobby and were in the elevator.

“I’ve kept the room just as it was,” went on Grady to Kennedy, lowering his voice.  “I’ve even delayed a bit in notifying the police, so that you could get here first.”

A moment later we entered the rooms, a fairly expensive suite, consisting of a sitting-room, bedroom, and bath.  Everything was in a condition to indicate that Shirley had just come in when the shot, if shot it had been, was fired.