"If you jump into my cart I'll run you down in time for the five-one. You'll miss it if you walk."
I accepted his offer thankfully, and a minute later was spinning briskly down the road to the station.
"Queer little devil, that man, Pope," Dr. Summers remarked. "Quite a character; socialist, labourite, agitator, general crank; anything for a row."
"Yes," I answered, "that was what his appearance suggested. It must be trying for the coroner to get a truculent rascal like that on a jury."
Summers laughed. "I don't know. He supplies the comic relief. And then, you know, those fellows have their uses. Some of his questions were pretty pertinent."
"So Badger seemed to think."
"Yes, by Jove," chuckled Summers, "Badger didn't like him a bit; and I suspect the worthy inspector was sailing pretty close to the wind in his answers."
"You think he really has some private information?"
"Depends upon what you mean by 'information.' The police are not a speculative body. They wouldn't be taking all this trouble unless they had a pretty straight tip from somebody. How are Mr. and Miss Bellingham? I used to know them slightly when they lived here."
I was considering a discreet answer to this question when we swept into the station yard. At the same moment the train drew up at the platform, and, with a hurried hand-shake and hastily spoken thanks, I sprang from the dog-cart and darted into the station.