“I do say so. I’m seriously alarmed about Mr. Ackroyd.”

 

I looked round the small lobby and picked up a heavy oak chair. Parker and I

held it between us and advanced to the assault. Once, twice, and three times we

hurled it against the lock. At the third blow it gave, and we staggered into the

room.

 

Ackroyd was sitting as I had left him in the arm-chair before the fire.

 

His head had fallen sideways, and clearly visible, just below the collar of his

coat, was a shining piece of twisted metalwork.

 

Parker and I advanced till we stood over the recumbent figure. I heard the

butler draw in his breath with a sharp hiss.

 

“Stabbed from be’ind,” he murmured. “’Orrible!”

 

He wiped his moist brow with his handkerchief, then stretched out a hand

gingerly towards the hilt of the dagger.

 

“You mustn’t touch that,” I said sharply. “Go at once to the telephone and ring

up the police station. Inform them of what has happened. Then tell Mr. Raymond

and Major Blunt.”

 

“Very good, sir.”