Morriston went in quickly. "There is the key, sure enough," he said,
looking round at the inside of the door. He took a couple of steps
farther into the room, only to utter an exclamation of intense surprise
and horror; then turned quickly with an almost scared face.
"Go back!" he cried hoarsely, holding up his hands with an arresting
gesture. "Kelson, Mr. Gifford, come here a moment and shut the door.
Look!" he said in a breathless whisper, pointing to the floor beneath the
window through which the deep orange light of the declining sun was
streaming.
An exclamation came from Kelson as he saw the object which Morriston
indicated, and he turned with a stupefied look to Gifford. "My--!"
Gifford's teeth were set and he fell a step backward as though in
repulsion. On the floor between the window and an old oak table which had
practically hidden it from the doorway, lay the body of a man in evening
clothes, one side of his shirt-front stained a dark colour. Although the
face lay in the shadow of the high window-sill, there was no mistaking
the man's identity.
"Henshaw!" Kelson gasped.
CHAPTER VI
THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT HENSHAW
It was the missing man, Henshaw, sure enough.
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