"No, sir, hardly a ripple. Too small."
"Later on did you check the temperature of the water?"
"Yes—evening after dark. The weather that Monday evening was about like the evening before. The pond water at 9 P.M. Monday was at 68 degrees Fahrenheit."
"Was the water clear?"
"Some roiling, before I stepped in. The bottom has a layer of dead leaves and silt. Miss Welsh told me she had gone into the pond—her skirt was wet. I'd also noticed (I forgot to say) that Dr. Chalmers' slacks were quite wet, consistent with what he told me. The body was that of a woman in the early twenties, of slight build, about five feet two. Since there was no question of life remaining, I let it back into the water, to disturb the situation as little as possible before examination by my superiors. The foam on the lips was noticeable, but less than one expects to see in a drowning."
"What is the significance of foam on the lips, in a drowning?"
"Well, sir, a medical expert—"
"Just drawing on your own experience and police training."
"Well, it means a struggle for air. Air and water mix with the secretions of nose and throat."
"So, if a body not breathing enters the water, you won't see foam?"