“Back from where?”
“Back from the medical officer’s place. I think he must have returned by this time.”
“You want to see Tim Breed?”
“No; just his records. Burial permits, I suppose, are a matter of public record.”
“Yes. All you’ve got to do is to go and ask for ’em. You won’t need me.”
“Regrettable as his bad taste is,” said Kent with a solemn face, “I fear that Doctor Breed doesn’t regard me with that confidence and esteem which one reads of in illuminated resolutions.”
“And you want me as an accelerator, eh?” smiled the lawyer. “All right. It’s the Jane Doe permit you’re after, I suppose.”
“Which?”
“Jane Doe. They buried the corpse from Lonesome Cove under that name. Unidentified dead, you know.”
“Of course! Of course!” assented Kent.