A Case for the Police

After that first horrible moment it was perhaps Anna who was the more
self-possessed. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently
unbuttoned his waistcoat. Then she looked up at Brendon.

"You must fetch a doctor," she said. "I do not think that he is quite
dead."

"And leave you here alone?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "Come with
me."

"I am not afraid," she answered. "Please hurry."

He reeled out of the room. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own
self-possession. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the
blood seemed to be coming from. Then she stood up and looked around
the room.

There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or
disarranged furniture. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt
paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. On
the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Anna saw it,
and for the first time found herself trembling.

She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front
of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with
damning insistence. It was Annabel's. The lace was family lace, easily
recognizable. The perfume was the only one she ever used. Annabel had
been here then. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few
minutes before. It was she---Anna's nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly
clutching at the table for support. The room was reeling, or was it
that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme
effort. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. She took up
the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. Almost at the same moment
the door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor.