when you say no
post-mortem contraction would have caused such an alteration in the
position of the body. There's no question about the rest of it. The man
was clearly murdered with a sharp tool of some sort, and the murderer was
in the room again this afternoon, and disturbed the corpse. Howells says
he knows who. It's up to him to find out how. He says he has plenty of
evidence and that the guilty person's in this house, so I'm not fretting
myself. I'm cross with you, Howells, for breaking up my holiday. One of
my assistants would have done as well."

Howells apparently paid no attention to the coroner. His narrow eyes
followed the doctor with a growing curiosity. His level smile seemed
to have drawn his lips into a line, inflexible, a little cruel. The
doctor grunted:

"Instead of abolishing coroners we ought to double their salaries."

The coroner made a long squeak as an indication of mirth.

"You think unfriendly spooks did it. I've always believed you were an old
fogy. Hanged if that doesn't sound modern."

The doctor ran his fingers through his thick, untidy hair.

"I merely ask for the implement that caused death. I only ask to know how
it was inserted through the bed while Blackburn lay on his back. And if
you've time you might tell me how the murderer entered the room last
night and to-day."

The coroner repeated his squeak. He glanced at the little group by the
fire.

"Out in the kitchen, upstairs, or right here under our noses is almost
certainly the person who could tell us. Interesting case, Howells!"

Howells, who still watched the doctor, answered dryly:

"Unusually interesting."

The coroner struggled into his coat.

"Permits are all available," he squeaked. "Have your undertakers out when
you like."

Graham answered him brusquely.

"Everything's arranged. I've only to telephone."

The coroner nodded at Doctor Groom. His voice pointed its humour with a
thinner tone.

"If I were you, Howells, I'd take this hairy old theorist up as a
suspicious character."

The doctor made a movement in his direction while Howells continued to
stare. The doctor checked himself. He went to the closet and got his
hat and coat.

"Want me to drop you, old sawbones?" the coroner asked.

Savagely the doctor shook his head.

"My buggy's in the stable."

The coroner's squeak was thinner, more irritating than ever.

"Then don't let the spooks get you, driving through the woods. Old folks
say there a