‘That’s just what there is—a doubt and no more. A post-mortem will set it at rest.’
The sergeant hesitated.
‘Of course, sir,’ he said slowly, ‘if you say that it ends the matter. But it’ll be a nasty shock for Mr Austin, sir.’
‘I can’t help that. See here,’ the doctor went on confidentially, ‘some of the obvious signs of drowning are missing, and he has had a blow on the back of the head that looks as if it might have killed him. I want to make sure which it was.’
‘But might he not have got that blow against a rock, sir?’
‘He might, but I’m not sure. But we’re only wasting time. To put the matter in a nutshell, I won’t give a certificate unless there is a post-mortem, and if one is not arranged now, it will be after my evidence at the inquest.’
‘Please don’t think, sir, I was in any way questioning your decision,’ the sergeant hastened to reply. ‘But I think I should first communicate with the chief constable. You see, sir, in the case of so prominent a family—’
‘You do what you think best about that, but if you take my advice you’ll ask the Scotland Yard people to send down one of their doctors to act with me.’
‘Bless me, sir! Is it as serious as that?’
‘Of course it’s serious,’ rapped out the doctor. ‘Sir William may have been drowned, in which case it’s all right; or he may not, in which case it’s all wrong—for somebody.’