Charles glanced at him. “Well—just that, sir. It was a blazing hot day, and that room had had the sun on it for hours. It was pretty hot still when I was in it. I thought, from what I've told you, and from the fact that Mr. Warrenby was wearing morocco slippers, and had a clip of papers at his feet, that he'd strolled out for a breath of air. That's all.”
The Chief Inspector sat down, and the Coroner told Charles that he might leave the box. Dr. Warcop was summoned to take his place.
The Chief Inspector leaned across his assistant to speak to Sergeant Carsethorn. “Who's the blonde sitting three seats from the end of the row behind us, next to a fat girl in blue?”
The Sergeant turned his head, and was able to identify the blonde as Gladys Mitcham, cook-general at Fox House. Hemingway nodded, and sat back. Inspector Harbottle asked softly: “What is it, Chief?”
“Something young Haswell said made her sit up. Looked as though, for two pins, she'd have chipped in,” replied Hemingway briefly.
“Are you going to ask for an adjournment?”
“Soon as the doctors have had their innings. The police surgeon won't keep us long: he's all right. This old dodderer will hold the stage for as long as he's allowed to, from the look of him.”
This prophecy was soon found to have been correct. Dr. Warcop proved to be the worst kind of medical witness, and he seemed to be labouring under the delusion that he was addressing a class of students. Since he had been prevented by an emergency call from one of his more valued patients from assisting at the autopsy, even the Coroner, himself a talkative man, felt that his evidence might have been compressed into a very few sentences. He was extremely pompous, and when asked by the Chief Inspector if he could state the approximate time of the murdered man's death, he explained at great length and with many scientific terms, why it was impossible for him—or, he dared to add, for anyone—to pronounce with certainty on this point. He then perceived that his colleague, Dr. Rotherhope, was gazing abstractedly at the ceiling, a smile of dreamy pleasure on his face, and he said with meaning emphasis that he had had many years of experience, and had learnt the danger of asserting as incontrovertible facts statements which, in his humble opinion, were open to doubt. He was prepared to enlarge on this theme, but was balked by the Chief Inspector, who cut in neatly when he paused to draw breath, said: “Thank you, doctor,” and sat down.
“Er—yes, thank you very much, doctor!” said the Coroner, as Dr. Warcop turned towards him, with the evident intention of continuing his lecture. “That's quite clear: more than a quarter of an hour, but less than an hour, you think. If the Chief Inspector has no further question he wishes to put to you, we need not keep you any longer.”
Dr. Rotherhope rose briskly to his feet as his name was called.