“Finished?” the chief constable inquired.
“Quite,” Armadale replied, in a tone which hinted strongly that there was much more to be done.
“In that case, we can turn the body over.” Sir Clinton said, stepping forward as he spoke and beckoning to the constable.
Handling him gently, they turned the dead man on his back; and, before rising, Sir Clinton ran his hand over the front of the body. As he stood up, he motioned to Armadale to follow his example.
“His waistcoat and trousers are a bit damp,” the inspector said, after he had felt them. “Is that what you mean?”
Sir Clinton nodded in confirmation. An expression of comprehension flitted across the inspector's face.
“So that was why you asked about the dew last night?” he observed. “I wondered what you were after, sir.”
“Something of the sort was in my mind,” the chief constable admitted. “Now have a look at the face, inspector. Has there been any bleeding at the nose? Or do you see anything else of any interest?”
Armadale bent down and inspected the dead man's face closely.
“Nothing out of the common that I can see,” he reported. “Of course, the face is congested a bit. That might be the stroke, I suppose.”