"No, there's nothing wrong at the Priory," Charles answered. "It's that fellow, Duval. We've just been up to his place, and - he's dead."
The landlord fell back a pace. "Dead." he echoed.
"Dooval? So that's…' A cough broke off what he was about to say. He went on again when the spasm was at an end: "So that's why he never turned up to-night like he generally does," he said. "How - what happened, sir? Was it the drugs he takes, do you think? Perhaps he ain't actually dead. I have heard as how they often goes into a kind of a stupor."
"He's dead right enough," Charles said grimly. "We found him hanging from his own ceiling."
The landlord's rosy cheeks turned suddenly pale. "Hanging?" he whispered. "You mean - someone - did him in?"
"No, it looks like suicide on the whole. I say, can you get us a drink? We feel we need one after this."
Wilkes turned mechanically towards the bar. "Yes, sir. That is, it's after hours, you know, sir, but I can stretch a point seeing what the reason is. I - I take it you wanted to ring up the police?"
"Naturally. They'll be over in about half an hour, I should imagine. Can we sit and wait here till they come?"
"Yes, sir, certainly. Will you have a whisky? And I'd be glad if you'd keep it quiet that I served you after hours, if you don't mind, sir." He measured out two tots, still looking rather pale about the gills. Charles told him to pour a third for himself, and he did so. "Hanged!" he repeated. "My Gawd, sir, I can't get over it! Regular shock it is, when I think how he took his dinner here this morning same as usual. He did seem a bit queerer than usual now I come to think of it, but there, he was always such a one for going off into one of them silly fits that I didn't set any store by it."
"What about the soda, Wilkes?" Peter interrupted.
The landlord started. "I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir." He produced a siphon, and squirted the soda-water into the glasses. "It's given me such a turn I don't hardly know what I'm doing." He sat down, limply. "To think of him - dead! And like that too. It must have upset you, finding him," he shuddered.
"Yes, not a pretty sight," Charles said.
They remained seated in the bar, until the noise of a car approaching roused Wilkes from his awe-struck meditations. The car drew up outside, and he hurriedly concealed the tell-tale glasses. "I'll go and let 'em in, sir," he said, and went out to the main door.
Charles and Peter followed him. Inspector Tomlinson was standing in the entrance, and at sight of Charles he said briskly: "Very good of you to wait, sir. Hope we haven't kept you. If you'll come out I've got a car here, and you can tell me what has happened while we go along to this place. Where is it, sir?"
"Only a stone's throw. I'll direct you."
"Who's the dead man, sir? Do you know him?"
"Duval. The artist I spoke to you about."
"I remember, sir," the inspector said. As usual he displayed nothing but a business-like and detached interest in the occurrence. "Will you get in beside Sergeant Matthews in the front, sir, and tell him the way? This is Dr Puttock, the Divisional Surgeon. Can you find room behind, Mr. Fortescue? I'm afraid it's a tight fit."
Peter managed to wedge himself between Dr Puttock and the inspector, and the car started forward. In a few minutes it turned into the rough lane, and drew up outside the cottage.
"I shall have to ask you gentlemen to come in with me," the inspector said. "Hope you don't mind, sir."
"No, it's all right," Charles said, and got out of the car.
They went into the cottage, and the sergeant, producing a note-book began to write in it, his eyes lifting from it from time to time to observe everything in the room. None of the three men paid any attention to Charles or Peter for some time, but when the body had been taken down and laid on the floor, the inspector seemed to become aware of them again, and said kindly: "Not very pleasant for you two gentlemen, but we shan't keep you very long, I hope Note the position of that chair, Matthews. Looks as though deceased must have stood upon it, doesn't it?" He glanced down at the doctor who was kneeling beside the body, making some sort of an inspection. "Clear case of suicide, eh, doctor? As soon as the ambulance comes we'll get the body away."
The doctor spoke over his shoulder. "Hand me my bag, will you, inspector?" He opened it, and took out a pair of forceps. As far as Peter could see, from his place by the door, he was doing something inside the dead man's mouth. Then the doctor shifted his position slightly, and Peter could see only his back. At length he got up, and closely scrutinised something that his forceps had found. He took a test-tube from his case, and carefully dropped the infinitesimal thing the forceps held into it. Then he corked it tightly.
The inspector watched him with the air of an inquisitive terrier. "Got something, doctor?"
"I shall want to do a more thorough examination," the doctor replied. He glanced down at the body. "You can cover it, sergeant. I've finished for the present." He replaced the test tube in his case. "I'm not satisfied that 1 his is a case of suicide," he said. "I found a scrap of cotton wool in the deceased's nostrils, very far back."
The inspector pursed his lips into a soundless whistle. "Nothing in the mouth, doctor?"
"Nothing now," said the doctor significantly.
"Better go over the place for finger-prints," the inspector said. "Now, Mr. Malcolm, if you please, I'd like to hear just how you happened to find the body."
Charles gave him a clear and concise account of all that had passed that evening, up to the time of the discovery of the corpse. He neither omitted any relevant point nor became discursive, and at the end of his statement Sergeant Matthews, who had taken it down, looked up gratefully.
"Thank you, sir," the inspector said. "If more witnesses were as clear as you are the police would have an easier time."
Charles smiled. "I'm not exactly new to this sort of thing," he said.
The inspector cast him a shrewd glance. "I thought I'd spotted you, sir. I saw you at the Norchester Assizes about six months ago, didn't I?"
"Quite possibly," Charles said. "Now there's one other thing I'd like to mention. When my brother-in-law and I reached the Bell Inn, the barman went to rouse Wilkes, the landlord, while I was ringing you up. As soon as I had finished speaking to the station, I turned round to find that Strange had come in with his own latchkey, and had been listening to all I'd said."
The doctor looked up sharply. "Strange?" he repeated.
"Yes, doctor, we've got a note about him," the inspector said. "Go on, sir."
"He asked us what we had found, and upon my refusing to tell him, he seemed distinctly annoyed, and said, as near as I can remember, that he advised us to stop poking our noses where they weren't wanted. I asked whether that was a threat, and he replied that it was a warning which he advised us to take."
"That's very interesting, sir," the inspector said. "You say he came in from the street?"
"Yes, using his own key."
"Then Strange was not in the Inn when this happened," the inspector said. "I think I'll be having a word with him." He nodded to the sergeant. "You'd better run these gentlemen back to, their home, Matthews. I take it they know at the Inn where we are, sir?"
"Wilkes knows, yes."
"Then he'll direct the ambulance on. Now, sir, I don't think there's any need for me to keep you standing about here any longer, but if you could make it convenient to come over to the station to-morrow we may have something more to ask you. And we'd like you to read through your statement, which we'll have put into longhand by then, and sign it. Sergeant Matthews will drive you home now. I hope what you've seen won't keep you awake." He went out with them to the car, and saw them off. The police car backed down the lane to the main road, and in a very short time deposited them at their own front door.