He glanced at Embury’s closed door, and then returned to the living-room, and again faced his audience.

“Nobody came in from the outside,” he announced.  “The windows show a sheer drop of ten stories to the ground.  No balconies or fire-escapes.  So our problem resolves itself into two possibilities—­ Mr. Embury was given the poison by someone already inside those locked doors—­or, the doors were not locked.”

The restless hands were still now.  The Examiner bore the aspect of a bomb-thrower who had exploded his missile and calmly awaited the result.  His darting eyes flew from face to face, as if he were looking for a criminal then and there.  He sat motionless —­save for his constantly moving eyeballs—­and for a moment no word was spoken by anyone.

Then Eunice said, with no trace of anger or excitement, “You mean some intruder was concealed in there when we went to bed?”

Crowell turned on her a look of undisguised admiration.  More, he seemed struck with a sudden joy of finding a possible loophole from the implication he had meant to convey.

“I never thought of that,” he said, slowly, piercing her with his intent gaze; “it may be.  But Mrs, Embury—­in that case, where is the intruder now?  How did he get out?”

“Rubbish!” cried Miss Ames, caustically.  “There never was any intruder—­I mean, not in our rooms.  Ridiculous!  Of course, the doors were not locked—­they were unintentionally left open—­I don’t believe they’re locked half the time!—­and your intruder came in through these other rooms.”

“Yes,” agreed Hendricks; “that must have been the way of it.  Dr. Crowell, if you’re sure this is a—­a—­oh, it isn’t!  Who would kill Embury?  Your theory presupposes a motive.  What was it?  Robbery?  Is anything missing?”

Nobody could answer this question, and Ferdinand, as one familiar with his master’s belongings was sent into the room of death to investigate.

Unwillingly, and only after a repeated order, the man went.

“No, ma’am,” he said, on his return, addressing Eunice.  “None of Mr. Embury’s things are gone.  All his pins and cuff-links are in their boxes and his watch is on the chiffonier where he always leaves it.

“Then,” resumed Hendricks, “what motive can you suggest, Dr. Crowell?”

“It’s not for me, sir, to go so far as that.  I see it this way:  I’m positive that the man was killed by foul means.  I’m sure he was poisoned, though I can’t say how.  I—­you see, I haven’t been Medical Examiner very long—­and I never had such a hard duty to perform before.  But it is my duty and I must do it.  I must report to headquarters.”

“You shan’t!” Eunice flew across the room and stood before him, her whole body quivering with intense rage.  “I forbid it!  I am Sanford Embury’s wife, and as such I have rights that shall not be imposed upon!  I will have no police dragged into this matter.  Were my husband really murdered—­which, of course, he was not—­I would rather never have the murderer discovered or punished, than to have the degradation, the horrors of—­a police case!”