The young doctor only shook his head. His opinion was manifestly fixed.
“But how can you possibly know better than the jury,” urged Maitland peevishly, “and the coroner, and the medical officer for the district, who were all convinced that his death was perfectly natural—that he got drunk, lost his way, laid down in the cart, and perished of exposure? Why, you did not even hear the evidence. I can’t make out,” he went on, with the querulousness of an invalid, “why you should have come up just to talk such nonsense. The coroner and the jury are sure to have been right.”
“Well, you see, it was not the coroner’s business nor the jury’s business, to know better than the medical officer for the district, on whose evidence they relied. But it is my business; for the said officer is my partner, and, but for me, our business would be worth very little. He is about as ignorant and easy-going an excellent old fellow as ever let a life slip out of his hands.”
“Then, if you knew so much, why didn’t you keep him straight?”
“Well, as it happened, I was down in Surrey with my people, at a wedding, when the death occurred, and they made a rather superficial examination of the deceased.”
“Still, I see less than ever how you got a chance to form such an extraordinary and horrible opinion if you were not there, and had only this printed evidence,” said Maitland, waving a sheet of the Times, “to go by; and this is dead against you. You’re too clever.”
“But I made a proper and most careful examination myself, on my return to town, the day after the inquest,” said Barton, “and I found evidence enough for me—never mind where—to put the matter beyond the reach of doubt. The man was murdered, and murdered, as I said, very deliberately, by some one who was not an ordinary ignorant scoundrel.”
“Still, I don’t see how you got a chance to make your examination,” said Maitland; “the man would be buried as usual—”
“Excuse me. The unclaimed bodies of paupers—and there was no one to claim his—are reserved, if needed—”
“I see—don’t go on,” said Maitland, turning rather pale, and falling back on his sofa, where he lay for a little with his eyes shut “It is all the fault of this most unlucky illness of mine,” he said, presently. “In my absence, and as nobody knew where I was, there was naturally no one to claim the body. The kind of people who knew about him will take no trouble or risk in a case like that.” He was silent again for a few moments; then, “What do you make out to have been the cause of death?” he asked.