The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time and manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the second “incident.”
He told how, “from information received,” he went to The Hollies, and found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at his feet.
“One side of Mr. Grant’s face was covered with blood,” he went on.
If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly succeeded. A slight hum ran through the court, and then all present seemed to restrain their breathing lest a word of the evidence should be lost. The mention of “blood” in a murder case was a more adroit dodge than Robinson himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers troubled to reflect that a smudge of fresh gore on Grant’s cheek could hardly have any bearing on the death of a woman whose body had admittedly lain all night in the river. It sufficed that Robinson had introduced a touch of the right color into the inquiry. Even the coroner was worried.
“Well!” he said testily.
“I took down his statement, sir,” said the witness, well knowing that he had wiped off Grant’s morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
“Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What did you do with the body?”
“Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir.”
“Where it was viewed recently by the jury?”