My companion took out an electric torch from his pocket, and, bending down, switched on the current.
"See that?" he enquired briefly.
Hardened as I was by my experiences in the war, I was unable to repress a shudder of horror. Right in the middle of the close-cropped hair the bone had been smashed in like the top of an eggshell.
"Not much doubt about the cause of death—eh?" The doctor switched off his torch, and stood up facing me. "One doesn't do that sort of thing without a little assistance," he added grimly. "He may have been struck by the prow of a boat or the screw of a steamer; the only other explanation I can offer is that he was deliberately murdered."
"Murdered!" The Sergeant strode forward, and then, suddenly pulling up, stared incredulously from one to the other of us.
"We must at least consider the possibility," I remarked.
The Sergeant rubbed his chin in the same thoughtful fashion as before.
"It's a startlin' notion," he observed at last. "There's never been a murder in Pen Mill yet—at least not in my time."
"I don't say there has now," interrupted the doctor, with a slight touch of impatience. "It all depends upon whether any vessel went up the estuary last night in the fog."
"We can find that out easy enough," chimed in the landlord. "Only a matter of enquiries at the lock. She couldn't 'ave got no farther—not till this mornin'."