"I am pleased to meet you, sir," he said. "I only wish it was under less distressing circumstances."
We shook hands.
"It's a very sudden and shocking business," I said. "Bascomb was the sort of man who ought to have lived to be a hundred." I paused. "Have you any idea how it happened?" I asked.
Dr. Hayward pursed up his lips and looked at me a little queerly.
"I am quite certain of one thing at least," he answered, "and that is that the poor fellow didn't meet his death by drowning. He was dead before he ever reached the water."
There was a brief silence.
"Then the idea about his having run into the jetty—" I began.
The doctor shook his head. "He was killed by a violent blow on the back of the skull. If you think you can stand a rather unpleasant sight, I'll show you the actual injury."
I contented myself with a nod, and, moving forward, followed him across the stone floor.
Bascomb's body was lying on the straw, face downwards. It had been stripped to the waist, and in the grey light which filtered in through the glass roof the enormous muscular development of his back and shoulders was plainly visible.