“Cooling,” he said.
“He’s been dead at least two hours,” said Dr. Curtis.
“Has he, by gum?” said Fox.
The bed was against the left-hand wall of the room. There was a space between the head of the bed and the back wall. Alleyn moved into it and made a gesture over the throat.
“Yes,” Curtis said, “like that. You notice it begins low down on the right near the clavicle, and runs upward almost to the left ear.”
“There’s no blood on any of them, sir,” said Campbell. “Not on her or any of them.”
Alleyn pointed to a slash in the collar of the pyjama jacket and Curtis nodded. “I know. It was done under the bedclothes. Look at them. Yes,” as Alleyn stooped to peer at an object at his feet. “She knocked him out with that boot. There’s blood on the heel.”
“Put it away carefully, Campbell. Chalk the positions. We’ll want Bailey and Thompson.”
“They’re coming,” said Curtis.
“Good.” Alleyn took a counterpane from the end of the bed and covered the body with it. “The same idea, you see,” he said, “with a difference. She’s learnt that an injury to the brain doesn’t always mean instant death but she’s stuck to the preliminary knock-out. It works well. Two hours, you say?”