There was a short silence.
‘I’m truly sorry, Cullen. I wish I could pretend to you that it might not be Bill, but short of going into a witness-box on oath I am prepared to back my belief that it is.’
After another little silence Cullen said: ‘Why was he dead? What happened to him?’
‘He had had a fair load of whisky and he fell backwards against the solid porcelain wash-basin. It fractured his skull.’
‘Who said all this?’
‘That was the finding of the coroner’s court. In London.’
‘In London? Why in London?’
‘Because he had died, according to the post-mortem, very shortly after leaving Euston. And by English law, a sudden death is investigated by a coroner and a jury.’
‘But all that’s just—just supposition,’ Cullen said, beginning to come alive and be angry. ‘If he was alone, how can anyone tell what happened to him?’
‘Because the English police are the most painstaking creatures as well as the most suspicious.’