"Herriard's man told me that there had been an accident to his master," the doctor replied. He looked narrowly at Joseph, and said in a sharper voice: "Nothing serious, I trust?"
Joseph made a hopeless gesture. "Dead!" he said.
"Dead!" The doctor was plainly startled. "Good God, what has happened?"
"A terrible thing, Stoke," Joseph said, shuddering. "I will take you to him."
"Is he in his own room?" Stoke asked, picking up his bag.
He was a spare, active man, and he ran up the broad stairs ahead of Joseph. Ford was sitting on a chair outside Nathaniel's door; the doctor glanced frowningly at him, and passed into the room. When he saw the position of Nathaniel's body, he went quickly up to it, and dropped on to his knees. The briefest of inspections convinced him that his patient was indeed dead; he looked up, as Joseph came into the room, and asked curtly: "The valet spoke of an accident. How did this happen?"
Joseph averted his eyes from Nathaniel's body, saying in a low tone: "Look at his back, Stoke!"
The doctor looked quickly down. Stephen had left Nathaniel lying much as he had found him, on his left side, exposing the little bloodstained rent in his coat.
There was a short silence; Joseph turned his back upon the doctor's activities, and gazed down into the dying embers in the grate.
The doctor rose from his knees. "I suppose you realise that this is a case of murder?" he said.