The manager shrugged his shoulders and looked a little lost. “Of course,” he said, “It’s possible that he had a heart attack. But I’m afraid that possibly someone murdered him. The telephone lines are down from the storm, so we can’t call the police yet. Can you help us?”
Grimsley followed the manager to the room of the unfortunate restaurant critic. Ambrose Pennwright’s very large body was lying face down on the floor next to a small table. A bottle of wine, a glass, a plate with cheese, some caviar, and a butter knife were on the table, but there did not seem to be a gun, a sharp knife, or any other weapon anywhere. Nothing in the room seemed out of place, but Grimsley felt there was something strange about the atmosphere. He examined the body for a minute, and he saw that Pennwright was not bleeding. There was a very small piece of caviar on the critic’s lower lip.
“Who found the body?” Grimsley asked the manager. “And who last saw him alive?”
“Please come with me,” the manager said. “There are several people in my office. You ought to discuss the situation with them.”