more than could be said for the usually impassive Dhinn, who was now excited enough to be useless. The other servants hovered around volubly, pausing in their chatter only to scowl at Dudley. It was pretty well established with them already that he was the slayer. Dhinn was the only one who spoke English.
"Help me get him into his bed," Dudley ordered him, and he lifted Rao-Singh's limp head while Dhinn, a small man, tugged at his feet. "Here you, lend a hand," Dudley snapped to the others, who had now come through the windows to the scene of the tragedy. They stared stupidly, not comprehending his meaning. "Tell one of them to help you," he turned to Dhinn. The others seemed to be afraid to touch their master, whom they thought to be already dead. But Dhinn requisitioned one of them roughly by the shoulder, and it took all three using all their strength to carry the helpless Rao-Singh up to the stairs and to his ornate bedroom.
If Dudley wondered what was going to happen next in this strange out-of-place Oriental mansion, with its air of mystery and tragedy, he had not long to wait. The doctor and a dusty motorcycle policeman appeared simultaneously at the head of the stairs. The policeman had already paid a preliminary visit to the study and had in his hand Rao-Singh's
