In fact, the murder must have been done by some one admitted
to the apartment late by Mendoza himself."
We walked over to the couch on which lay the body covered by a
sheet. Dr. Leslie drew down the sheet.
On the face was a most awful look, a terrible stare and contortion
of the features, and a deep, almost purple, discoloration. The
muscles were all tense and rigid. I shall never forget that face
and its look, half of pain, half of fear, as if of something
nameless.
Mendoza had been a heavy-set man, whose piercing black eyes
beetled forth, in life, from under bushy brows. Even in death,
barring that horrible look, he was rather distinguished-looking,
and his close-cropped hair and moustache set him off as a man of
affairs and consequence in his own country.
"Most peculiar, Kennedy," reiterated Dr. Leslie, pointing to the
breast. "You see that wound? I can't quite determine whether that
was the real cause of death or not. Of course, it's a bad wound,
it's true. But there seems to be something else here, too. Look at
the pupils of his eyes, how contracted they are. The lungs seem
congested, too. He has all the marks of having been asphyxiated.
Yet there are no indications on his throat of violence such as
would be necessary if that were the case.
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