"Just a minute, please," he said.

And the raised voice was his official voice, so different that all the heads at the bridge table turned to him, and Anne Meredith's hand remained poised over an ace of spades in the dummy.

"I'm sorry to tell you all," he said, "that our host, Mr. Shaitana, is dead."

Mrs. Lorrimer and Doctor Roberts rose to their feet. Despard stared and frowned. Anne Meredith gave a little gasp.

"Are you sure, man?"

Doctor Roberts, his professional instincts aroused, came briskly across the floor with a bounding medical "in at the death" step.

Without seeming to, the bulk of Superintendent Battle impeded his progress.

"Just a minute, Doctor Roberts. Can you tell me first who's been in and out of this room this evening?"

Roberts stared at him.

"In and out? I don't understand you. Nobody has."

The superintendent transferred his gaze.

"Is that right, Mrs. Lorrimer?"

"Quite right."

"Not the butler nor any of the servants?"

"No. The butler brought in that tray as we sat down to bridge. He has not been in since."

Superintendent Battle looked at Despard.

Despard nodded in agreement.

Anne said rather breathlessly, "Yes – yes, that's right."

"What's all this, man," said Roberts impatiently. "Just let me examine him – may be just a fainting fit."

"It isn't a fainting fit, and I'm sorry – but nobody's going to touch him until the divisional surgeon comes. Mr. Shaitana's been murdered, ladies and gentlemen."

"Murdered?" A horrified incredulous sigh from Anne.

A stare, a very blank stare from Despard.

A sharp incisive "Murdered?" from Mrs. Lorrimer.

A "Good God!" from Doctor Roberts.

Superintendent Battle nodded his head slowly. He looked rather like a Chinese porcelain mandarin. His expression was quite blank.