The Rome Express | Page 7

the seals,
he walked in, making straight for the little room or compartment where
the body of the victim still lay untended and absolutely untouched.
It was a ghastly sight, although not new in M. Floçon's experience.
There lay the corpse in the narrow berth, just as it had been stricken. It
was partially undressed, wearing only shirt and drawers. The former lay
open at the chest, and showed the gaping wound that had, no doubt,
caused death, probably instantaneous death. But other blows had been
struck; there must have been a struggle, fierce and embittered, as for
dear life. The savage truculence of the murderer had triumphed, but not
until he had battered in the face, destroying features and rendering
recognition almost impossible.
A knife had given the mortal wound; that was at once apparent from the
shape of the wound. It was the knife, too, which had gashed and
stabbed the face, almost wantonly; for some of these wounds had not
bled, and the plain inference was that they had been inflicted after life
had sped. M. Floçon examined the body closely, but without disturbing
it. The police medical officer would wish to see it as it was found. The
exact position, as well as the nature of the wounds, might afford
evidence as to the manner of death.
But the Chief looked long, and with absorbed, concentrated interest, at

the murdered man, noting all he actually saw, and conjecturing a good
deal more.
The features of the mutilated face were all but unrecognizable, but the
hair, which was abundant, was long, black, and inclined to curl; the
black moustache was thick and drooping. The shirt was of fine linen,
the drawers silk. On one finger were two good rings, the hands were
clean, the nails well kept, and there was every evidence that the man
did not live by manual labour. He was of the easy, cultured class, as
distinct from the workman or operative.
This conclusion was borne out by his light baggage, which still lay
about the berth,--hat-box, rugs, umbrella, brown morocco hand-bag. All
were the property of some one well to do, or at least possessed of
decent belongings. One or two pieces bore a monogram, "F.Q.," the
same as on the shirt and under-linen; but on the bag was a luggage label,
with the name, "Francis Quadling, passenger to Paris," in full. Its owner
had apparently no reason to conceal his name. More strangely, those
who had done him to death had been at no pains to remove all traces of
his identity.
M. Floçon opened the hand-bag, seeking for further evidence; but
found nothing of importance,--only loose collars, cuffs, a sponge and
slippers, two Italian newspapers of an earlier date. No money, valuables,
or papers. All these had been removed probably, and presumably, by
the perpetrator of the crime.
Having settled the first preliminary but essential points, he next
surveyed the whole compartment critically. Now, for the first time, he
was struck with the fact that the window was open to its full height.
Since when was this? It was a question to be put presently to the porter
and any others who had entered the car, but the discovery drew him to
examine the window more closely, and with good results.
At the ledge, caught on a projecting point on the far side, partly in,
partly out of the car, was a morsel of white lace, a scrap of feminine
apparel; although what part, or how it had come there, was not at once
obvious to M. Floçon. A long and minute inspection of this bit of lace,

which he was careful not to detach as yet from the place in which he
found it, showed that it was ragged, and frayed, and fast caught where
it hung. It could not have been blown there by any chance air; it must
have been torn from the article to which it belonged, whatever that
might be,--head-dress, nightcap, night-dress, or handkerchief. The lace
was of a kind to serve any of these purposes.
Inspecting further, M. Floçon made a second discovery. On the small
table under the window was a short length of black jet beading, part of
the trimming or ornamentation of a lady's dress.
These two objects of feminine origin--one partly outside the car, the
other near it, but quite inside--gave rise to many conjectures. It led,
however, to the inevitable conclusion that a woman had been at some
time or other in the berth. M. Floçon could not but connect these two
finds with the fact of the open window. The latter might, of course,
have been the work of the murdered man himself at an earlier hour. Yet
it is unusual, as the detective imagined, for a passenger, and especially
an