"Well, within a very short time, anyway," conceded Stoke.
Joseph sighed, and relapsed into silence. This lasted until the arrival of a police inspector, with various satellites. Stephen brought them upstairs, and Joseph roused himself from his abstraction, greeting the Inspector, whom he knew, with a forced smile, and saying: "You know Dr Stoke, don't you?"
The room seemed suddenly to be overfull of people. Joseph confided to Stephen that it seemed a desecration. The police-surgeon and Dr Stoke conferred together over Nathaniel's body, and the Inspector, who looked as though he did not like being brought to a murder-case on Christmas Eve, began to ask questions.
"I can't tell you anything," Stephen said. "The last time I saw him alive was downstairs in the drawing-room, at about seven-thirty."
"I understand it was you who broke into the room, sir, and discovered the body?"
"His valet and I. Our finger-prints will be found all over the place."
"Mine too," Joseph said unhappily. "One doesn't think, when a thing like this happens."
The Inspector's eyes dwelled on the brandy decanter, and the glass beside it. Stephen said: "No. False scent. The brandy was brought to revive my uncle before we realised he was dead. I drank it."
"Very understandable, sir, I'm sure. When you came in, was the deceased lying as at present?"
"Not quite," Stephen said, after a moment's reflection. "He was rather more on his face, I think."