The right
hand, the fingers curled but not touching each other, lay palm-upward on
the floor at the end of the rigid, outstretched arm. The one visible eye
was half open, but on the sallow, thin face, which had been strikingly
handsome in an obvious sort of way, was a peace and dignity which Dundee
had never seen upon Sprague's face when the man was alive. The left leg
was drawn upward so that the knee almost touched the bullet-pierced
stomach.
"How long has he been dead, doctor?" Dundee asked quietly.
"Hello, boy!" Dr. Price greeted him placidly. "Always the same question!
I've been here only a few minutes, and I've already told Strawn that I
shall probably be unable to fix the hour of death with any degree of
accuracy."
"Took your time, didn't you, Bonnie?" Captain Strawn greeted his former
subordinate on the Homicide Squad. "Doc says he's been dead between ten
and twelve hours. Since it's nearly ten now, that means Sprague was
killed some time between nine and eleven o'clock last night."
"Better say between nine o'clock and midnight last night," Dr. Price
suggested. "He may have lived an hour or more--unconscious, of course.
For the indications are that he did not die instantly, but staggered a
few steps, clutching at the wound.
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