This man, it seems, had already noticed, from
the courtyard, that the electric lights were full on in Mr. Hartridge's
sitting-room, as they had been all night, according to the statement of
the night-porter; so now, suspecting that something was wrong, he came
up with us, and rang the bell and battered at the door. Then, as there
was still no sign of life within, he inserted his duplicate key and
tried to open the door--unsuccessfully, however, as it proved to be
bolted on the inside. Thereupon the porter fetched a constable, and,
after a consultation, we decided that we were justified in breaking open
the door; the porter produced a crowbar, and by our unified efforts the
door was eventually burst open. We entered, and--my God! Dr. Thorndyke,
what a terrible sight it was that met our eyes! My brother-in-law was
lying dead on the floor of the sitting-room. He had been
stabbed--stabbed to death; and the dagger had not even been withdrawn.
It was still sticking out of his back."
He mopped his face with his handkerchief, and was about to continue his
account of the catastrophe when the carriage entered a quiet side-street
between Westminster and Victoria, and drew up before a block of tall,
new, red-brick buildings.
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