The constable said simply: "He's dead, Sergeant."
"Dead?" The sergeant's jaw dropped; he looked blankly across at Mr. Amberley.
Amberley, who had turned quickly at the constable's entrance, stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he drew out his cigarette case and took a cigarette from it with extreme deliberation. His eyes met the sergeant's; he shut the case with a snap and felt in his pocket for matches.
The sergeant sat gazing at him somewhat numbly. Mr. Amberley lit his cigarette and flicked the dead match into the grate. He inhaled a long breath of smoke and glanced at the constable. "Who sent the message?"
"I dunno his name, sir. He was a gentleman, all right. He said he had passed in his car and Tucker asked him to drive to the nearest house and get through to us."
"I see. I'll run you out there, Sergeant."
The sergeant roused himself. "Yes, sir. Harmer, get hold of Mason and Philpots, and tell them to bring the hand-ambulance along." The constable went out. The sergeant got up, looking at Amberley. "Lor', sir was that why you wanted him watched?" he said. "Was this what you was expecting?"
"It was what I was afraid of. Damn that fool Tucker!"
The sergeant dropped his voice lower. "Is it murder, Mr. Amberley?"
Amberley gave a grim smile. "Getting quite acute, aren't you? You'll find the coroner's jury will return a verdict of accidental death. Are you ready to start?"