“About the inquest,” I said. “Where would you prefer it to be held. Here, or at the Three Boars?”
Mrs. Ackroyd stared at me with a dropped jaw.
“The inquest?” she asked, the picture of consternation. “But surely there won’t have to be an inquest?”
Mr. Hammond gave a dry little cough and murmured, “Inevitable. Under the circumstances,” in two short little barks.
“But surely Dr. Sheppard can arrange——”
“There are limits to my powers of arrangement,” I said dryly.
“If his death was an accident——”
“He was murdered, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said brutally.
She gave a little cry.
“No theory of accident will hold water for a minute.”