What is it?"
"Just a suicide, I think," and I unlocked the door into the room
where the dead man lay.
Simmonds, Goldberger and Godfrey stepped inside. I followed and
closed the door.
"Nothing has been disturbed," I said. "No one has touched the body."
Simmonds nodded, and glanced inquiringly about the room; but
Godfrey's eyes, I noticed, were on the face of the dead man.
Goldberger dropped to his knees beside the body, looked into the eyes
and touched his fingers to the left wrist. Then he stood erect again
and looked down at the body, and as I followed his gaze, I noted its
attitude more accurately than I had done in the first shock of
discovering it.
It was lying on its right side, half on its stomach, with its right
arm doubled under it, and its left hand clutching at the floor above
its head. The knees were drawn up as though in a convulsion, and the
face was horribly contorted, with a sort of purple tinge under the
skin, as though the blood had been suddenly congealed. The eyes were
wide open, and their glassy stare added not a little to the apparent
terror and suffering of the face. It was not a pleasant sight, and
after a moment, I turned my eyes away with a shiver of repugnance.
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