The detective's first glance took in
stately armchairs of the Cromwell period, thick, mellow-toned rugs, and,
in the living room beyond, splendid examples of Jacobean furniture.
"A horrible thing to happen in a man's home, Dundee," Miles was saying,
his plump, rosy face blighted with horror. "I can't realize yet that we
actually slept as usual with a corpse lying down here all night! And I
have only myself to blame--"
"What do you mean?" Dundee asked.
"Why, that the--the body wasn't discovered sooner," Miles explained. "If
it had occurred to me that Whitson hadn't closed the trophy room
windows, I should have gone in to close and lock them when I made the
rounds of living room, dining room and library, after our guests were
gone last night."
A pale-faced, bald-headed butler had materialized while his master was
speaking. "Beg pardon, sir, but I did not close the trophy room windows
because I thought you might be using the room again.... You see, sir,"
and Whitson turned to Dundee, "Mr. Miles and Mr. Dunlap played ping-pong
in the trophy room after dinner until the other guests began to arrive,
and I did not want them to find the room stuffy--it was a warm night--if
any of the guests--"
"I see," Dundee interrupted. "Who, to your knowledge, was the last
person to enter the trophy room last night, Mr.
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