The study door was
shut and she opened it. Inside, young Mr. Willoughby Smith
was stretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, but
as she tried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the
underside of his neck. It was pierced by a very small but very
deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. The instru-
ment with which the injury had been inflicted lay upon the carpet
beside him. It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to be
found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and
a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of the professor's own
desk.
"At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead,
but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he
opened his eyes for an instant. 'The professor,' he murmured -- 'it
was she.' The maid is prepared to swear that those were the
exact words. He tried desperately to say something else,
and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he fell back
dead.
"In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the
scene, but she was just too late to catch the young man's dying
words.
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