Poole laughed.
“General Post,” he said. “Doctor, will you take the lady; Kelly you be Sir Garth, and Rawton, you Lossett.”
The reconstruction performance was repeated, with an altered cast. Chief Inspector Barrod stumbled at a point rather farther behind his victim than Poole had done, and fell with nearly his full weight against the back of Kelly’s shoulder.
“Christ, I’m killed!” yelled that unfortunate. “What have ye in y’r fist, Chief?”
Barrod chuckled delightedly and extracted an ebony ruler from up his sleeve.
“That’ll leave a bruise all right—I’ll back mine against yours, Poole—and I’ll bet you didn’t notice anything more than the fall.”
“No, sir, your body was between me and his back. But I don’t think that answered Wagglebow’s description of the accident.”
“And I saw the blow, sir, anyhow,” said Rawton. “I’m sure Lossett, if I’m placed right, couldn’t have said that he was sure no blow was struck.”
“I think I should have known he’d been violently struck, sir,” said Smith, who had taken the part of Mr. Hessel.
The Chief Inspector looked nettled at the reception of his rendering.