"Did anyone help you to carry off the body—anyone who might have thrown a cigar away, unlighted?"
"No, siree! When Billy Ford and Tom Harris git a cigar it never gits away," said Mr. Pike.
"Did you find out where the dead man came from and what he was doing in the village?"
"He was stopping down to Hickwood with Mrs. Wilson," answered Pike. "His friend there was Charlie Scott, who's making a flying-machine that's enough to make anybody luny. I've told him he can't borrow no money from me on no such contraption, and so has Billy Dodd."
Garrison mentally noted down the fact that Scott was in need of money.
"What can you tell me of the man's appearance?" he added, after a moment of silence. "Did his face present any signs of agony?"
"Nope. Just looked dead," said the coroner.
"Were there any signs upon him of any nature?"
"Grass stain on his knee—that's about all."
"About all?" Garrison echoed. "Was there anything else—any scratches or bruises on his hands?"