“Will you look at the—er—the body first, or the locality?” said Mervyn.
“The locality?”
“Yes. I mean where I first picked him up. I suppose Joe told you all about it, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he told us all about it—after a fashion,” said the inspector with a slight smile. “But I needn’t remind you Mr Mervyn, what sort of a ‘telling all about it,’ one would be likely to get from a man of old Joe’s stamp. So the first thing to do is for you to give us your account of what happened,” and the speaker’s hand instinctively dived for his notebook.
“I rather think I had better inspect the ‘subject’ the first thing, Nashby,” struck in the doctor.
“Of course. This way.”
Mervyn showed them into the room and raised the blinds, which he had lowered again after the first discovery. The constable was left in charge of the dogcart. The doctor bent over the dead man and proceeded to make his first examination. The bystanders could not but notice that he looked more than a little puzzled.
“We shall have to strip him,” he said, looking up. This was done, the police inspector giving his aid. Mervyn stood and looked on.
The body was that of a well-knit, well-proportioned man, probably on the right side of forty.
“No sign of injury, none whatever,” pronounced the doctor, “and his heart is as sound as a bell. Here is something, but it seems of no importance. At one time or other, he was addicted to the drug habit,” pointing to the left arm, which he had raised. “But—not lately.”