“They are very few, Chief Inspector,” was the reply. “He was hauled out by the river police shortly after midnight, at the lower end of Limehouse Reach. He was alive then—they heard his cry—but he died while they were hauling him into the boat.”
“Any statement?” rapped Kerry.
“He was past it, Chief Inspector. According to the report of the officer in charge, he mumbled something which sounded like: 'It has bitten me,' just before he became unconscious.”
“'It has bitten me,'” murmured Kerry. “The divisional surgeon has seen him?”
“Yes, Chief Inspector. And in his opinion the man did not die from drowning, but from some form of virulent poisoning.”
“Poisoning?”
“That's the idea. There will be a further examination, of course. Either a hypodermic injection or a bite.”
“A bite?” said Kerry. “The bite of what?”
“That I cannot say, Chief Inspector. A venomous reptile, I suppose.”
Kerry stared down critically at the swollen face of the victim, and then glanced sharply aside at Durham.