Read Online A Scream in Soho by John G. Brandon - Free Book Online

notify them on the arrival of the divisional-surgeon and the ambulance.
    â€œThat’s them,” the sergeant said with complete certitude, and an equally complete lack of grammar.
    McCarthy made a dart up the stairs, taking three at a time.
    â€œQuick with that back-door key,” he snapped, “before they start rubbing out every footprint between the door and the back gate with their Number Ten’s! And when you go out,” he added, “watch that you step well to one side of the path clear of any possible spoor.”
    One glance the divisional-surgeon gave at that portion of the murdered Harper’s back which was lit by the torch.
    â€œI don’t know what the devil I’m supposed to do here,” he was beginning, when McCarthy interrupted him.
    â€œNow, Doctor, darlin’, don’t start bellyaching the minute you get here,” he said, a whimsical note in his voice. “’Tis the prerogative of the medical profession called from their warm, downy beds I know, but there’s quite a point or two that you can put me right on for a start.”
    â€œDamme if I see what they are,” the slightly mollified medico said, “as I understand it, you found the man within a few minutes of his murder, so you know the time of death as well as I do. That he’s been stabbed is as plain as a pikestaff—even a C.I.D. man could see that.”
    â€œAh,” McCarthy said, “but what with, Doctor? That’s the point.”
    â€œWhat do you think it would be with—a safety razor blade?”
    â€œIf you’ll take a look and not a cursory glance at what’s to be seen of that wound,” McCarthy went on, taking no notice of the gibe, “ye’ll notice that it’s three-cornered, that shows most definitely in the cut in the heavy cloth of the tunic.”
    â€œI can see that,” the medical man said, still grumpily. “What about it?”
    â€œI’d be glad to know just what class of weapon, in your opinion, the poor fella was killed with.”
    From his pocket the doctor took a magnifying glass and made a closer inspection of the wound.
    â€œA three-edged dagger, undoubtedly,” he said positively. “That’s clear enough. I should say that it carried a well-sharpened point which punctured the heart and caused death instantly.”
    From the pocket of his dressing-gown, McCarthy produced carefully the dagger he had found in the front of the house.
    â€œCould this be the weapon, Doc?” he asked quietly.
    The medical man took the stiletto gingerly by the haft and examined it. “It could be,” he pronounced, “and I should be inclined to say it is.”
    McCarthy shook his head. “Taking events chronologically as they happened, Doctor, it couldn’t very well be the actual weapon,” he said. “I found this a good half an hour, approximately, before Harper, here, was stabbed.”
    â€œThen if not that particular weapon, he was killed with one as like it as possible,” the doctor said. “By the way, would you like me to take a test from the blood on that weapon?”
    â€œThat’s an idea,” the inspector said. “I’ll have it fingerprinted and sent on to you right away. There’s no need to keep you here any longer, Doctor. Get the body away to the mortuary as soon as you’re ready. Will you do the P.M. to-night—or rather this morning?”
    â€œI may as well,” the medical gentleman growled. “Get it done with, and if I’ve any luck I may get a bit of breakfast in peace, even if I can’t get any sleep.”
    â€œWell, Sergeant, I think I’m about through here for to-night,” McCarthy said, as they watched the rear light of the ambulance, followed by the divisional-surgeon’s two-seater, disappear out of the alley. Put a couple of men on here, back and front, and by that I mean two at each point, with