"Why 'answering'?"
Mr. Basket ran his pen through the word. "The fact is," he explained, "I've only written out a thing of this sort once before in my life; and that was when Mrs. Basket missed a black-and-tan terrier. H'm, let me see.… Between the hours of 7 and 11 p.m., Solomon Hymen, Esquire, and Justice of the Peace, Major of the Troy Volunteer Artillery. The missing gentleman was of imposing exterior—"
"Height five feet, three inches," said the Doctor.
"Eh? Are you sure?"
"As medical officer of the Troy Artillery, I keep account of every man in the corps; height, chest measurement, waist measurement, any peculiarity of structure, any mole, cicatrix, birth-mark and so on. I began to take these notes at the Major's own instance, for purposes of identification on the field of battle. Little did I dream, as I passed the tape around my admired friend, that his proportions would ever be the subject of this melancholy curiosity!"
"It reminds me," said Mr. Basket, "of a group in my garden entitled Finding the body of Harold. Five feet three, you say? I had better scratch out 'imposing exterior'; or, stay!—we'll alter it to 'carriage.'"
"Chest, thirty-six inches; waist, forty-three inches; complexion— does that come next?" Doctor Hansombody appealed to the Chief Constable, who nodded.
"Complexion, features, colour of hair, of eyes… any order you please."
"We must leave out all allusion to his hair, I think," said Mr. Basket; "and, by the way, I suppose the—er—authorities will desire to take possession of any other little odds-and-ends our friend left behind him? Complexion, clear and sanguine; strongly marked features. His eye, sir, was like Mars, to threaten and command; but I forget the precise colour at this moment. We might, perhaps, content ourselves with 'piercing.' If I allow myself to be betrayed into a description of his moral qualities—"
"Unnecessary," put in the Chief Constable.