Carolyn Wells - The Luminous Face

“That’s the way the murderer got in,” he said positively.

“Maybe not,” demurred Belknap. “Maybe he came in with Gleason.”

“Oh, maybe he came in at the window, or down the chimney!” exclaimed Prescott shortly; “you can’t admit the obvious ever, can you?”

Belknap chuckled at the other’s quick temper, and they went upstairs.

They found Policeman Kelly in charge, and he greeted them gladly.

“Get busy,” he said, genially. “Sure, there’s enough to engage your attention.”

Belknap, beyond a word of greeting, ignored the officer, and took a swift, comprehensive survey of the place.

It was a large front room, apparently library and cutting room. A bedroom was back of it and a bath room behind that. An old house, quite evidently remodeled for bachelor or small family apartments.

Though up to date as to plumbing, lighting and decoration, the window and door frames proclaimed it an old building. The furniture was over ornate, and the pictures and ornaments a bit flamboyant. But it was a comfortable enough place, and the personal belongings of the dead Gleason were scattered about and gave a homey appearance. A silver framed photograph of Mrs Lindsay was on a table, and on another were two more portraits of less distinguished-looking ladies.

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