“Well?”
“What else?”
The spruce physician showed his teeth.
“You expect more?”
“Yes, you are teasing me, keeping back some delicate morsel. Has Murchison blundered?”
“The wish seems mother to the thought.”
“Perhaps.”
“Mrs. Baxter has demanded a post-mortem examination. I am to perform it.”
His wife’s lips parted, and closed again into a hard line. She looked wickedly handsome in her yellow gown.
“I shall take Brimley, of Cossington, with me.”