“Unfortunately no. It’s a grip—a clutch—which, will not reveal print marks in the impressions. I thought they might have been caused during the removal of the body.”
“It is not possible to make such marks on a corpse. Reaction sets in at the moment of death. Sometimes blue spots appear on a dead body, and such appearances have been occasionally mistaken for bruises.”
“Did you observe any marks when you examined the body?” asked Barrant as he rose to his feet.
“No, but my examination was confined to ascertaining if life was extinct.”
Barrant thanked him and said good night. The doctor rose also, and escorted him to the door.
Outside, a wild west wind sprang at him. Barrant pulled his hat over his eyes and hurried away.
The following morning he sought out Inspector Dawfield at his office in Penzance and disclosed to him his conclusions about the case.
“I intend to go to London by this morning’s train, Dawfield,” he announced. “We must find Robert Turold’s daughter.”
“You think she has gone to London?”
“I feel sure of it, and I do not think it will be difficult to trace her. I shall try first at Paddington. I will get the warrant for her arrest backed at Bow Street, and put a couple of good men on the search before returning here. You had better have the inquest adjourned until I come back. This is no suicide, Dawfield, but a deep and skilfully planned murder.”