“It was hard frost last night, sir, as you’ll remember; so there were no foot-prints on the road, or anything of that sort. But the grass by the side of the ditch is fairly long; and when I examined it, it was clear enough that there hadn't been any struggle on it. They may have struggled on the road, of course; but the grass was quite undisturbed.”
“Then the body hadn't been dragged off the road into the ditch? It must have been lifted and pitched in?”
“So I think, sir. The grass border between road and ditch is quite narrow—just room to stand on it comfortably. One could hoist a body over it without too much trouble.”
“And from the look of the body you think it had been thrown in?”
“Yes, sir. It was huddled up anyhow in the ditch, just as it might have fallen if it had been dropped in with a thud.”
“Single-handed business, then, you believe?”
“Well, sir, I think if two people had been handling him—one taking his shoulders and another taking his feet—he'd have fallen more tidily. He certainly looked as if he's been bundled in anyhow. I'd put it down as a single-handed job from the look of it.”
“I suppose you examined the pockets, and so forth?” Sir Clinton asked.
“Of course, sir. But there was nothing in them of any use to us.”
The Inspector's voice betrayed that he had something still in reserve. Now he brought it forward.