Page:Burton Stevenson--The marathon mystery.djvu/29



IMMONDS had dropped on one knee beside the body. He was up again in an instant.

“No need for an ambulance,” he said tersely. “He’s dead.”

The words seemed to rouse the girl from the ecstasy of horror which possessed her, and she buried her face in her hands, shuddering convulsively. Godfrey caught her as she swayed forward, and led her gently to a chair.

“Perhaps you don’t remember me, Miss Croydon,” he said. “Godfrey’s my name—it was only the other night at Mrs. Delroy’s I met you. It was Jack Drysdale who introduced me—you know I’m an old friend of his.”

“Yes,” she murmured indistinctly, “I remember quite”

An exclamation from Simmonds interrupted her. He had picked up a small, pearl-handled revolver from the floor in the corner.

“Is this yours, miss?” he asked.

She nodded faintly.

He snapped it open and looked at the chambers. One had been discharged. He sniffed at the barrel, then held it out to Godfrey. The odour of burnt gunpowder was plainly discernible.