"Mac was horror-struck. He stared at Brashton as though he had taken leave of his senses.
"'Good God, man,' he cried, 'why did you let them leave it here? It might have died of the plague or something.' And, stepping back into the corridor, he yelled for a boy. 'Take that thing away,' he ordered. 'Get rid of it. Put it in the furnace.'
"Well, they took it down and cremated it. To-day, a fine, old, crusty police sergeant rolled up to the office. He wanted to see some one, he said, about the find of a body in Piccadilly.
"Brashton received him suavely. 'Very good of you to come, sergeant,' he said. 'We're always grateful for any information about matters of interest.'
"The sergeant fidgeted with his helmet. 'That's all right, sir,' he said. 'As a matter of fact, though, I've come to you for information this time. You see, I'm a coroner's officer, and we've got to hold an inquest, but we ain't got no body to hold it on!'
"For a moment Brashton was flabbergasted, but
he recovered himself almost immediately. 'I'm very sorry,' he apologised, 'but the fact is, although we had the skeleton here it has—er—been mislaid.'
"That coroner's officer," went on Jerrold gravely, "is now looking over the excavations to see if it's possible to find a few odds and ends to hold the inquest on. But I see Mr. Green's getting impatient. Don't let me keep you."
The boats had been brought up to the quay and, as the detectives stepped aboard, slipped downstream, hugging the Embankment. Foyle turned a speculative eye on the pier they had just quitted. A steam launch had just brought up, but Jerrold had vanished. The superintendent swore softly.
"So that's why he kept us talking," he said. "He suspects something, and wanted to keep us till he could send for a boat himself. We shall be a regular procession if we don't stop that." He leaned over and spoke to Green in the second boat. Immediately it slackened speed, and as the launch came alongside the chief inspector swung deftly aboard.