“It's a .38 calibre, apparently,” he commented, after a glance at it. “You'd better keep it, inspector. Hullo! Here's the boat coming in.”
A rowing-boat manned by the two fishermen was approaching Neptune's Seat.
“That's good. We can finish our examination on the spot now. The tide won't rise to the level of the rock for a while yet; and it doesn't matter if we do get cut off, now that the boat's here. Bring her close in, please, if there's water enough.”
The fishermen, nothing loath to get a closer view of the proceedings, brought the boat's bow up to the natural quay formed by the rock; and then, shipping their oars, they sat down to watch what was going on.
“We may as well go through his pockets next,” Sir Clinton suggested, returning to the body. “Go ahead, inspector.”
Armadale began his search, reporting each object discovered.
“Raincoat pockets—nothing in either. Left-hand breast pocket of jacket—a handkerchief. Right-hand breast pocket—a note-case.”
He handed this over to Sir Clinton, who opened it.
“Fifteen-ten in notes. Nothing else. Well, it wasn't a case of robbery, apparently. Go on, inspector.”
“Right-hand upper waistcoat pocket,” the inspector droned obediently, “a pocket diary.”