has been no post-mortem?’
‘No, sir. It wasn’t considered necessary.’
‘We’ll have one now. Can you get the authority from your people? It should be done at once.’
‘Of course, sir, if you say so it’s all right. There will be no difficulty. But as a matter of form I must ring up the superintendent and get his permission.’
‘Certainly, Sergeant, I recognise that. Can you do it now? I should like to see the doctor as soon as possible.’
While the necessary authorisation was being obtained French examined the body and clothes in detail. But except that a tiny bit of skirt had been torn out, as if it had caught on a splinter or nail, he found nothing to interest him.
A few minutes later he and the sergeant were being shown into the consulting room of Dr Hills, the police surgeon.
The doctor was a short man with a pugnacious manner. To French’s suave remarks he interposed replies rather like the bark of a snapping pekinese.
‘Murder?’ he ejaculated when French had put his views before him. ‘Rubbish! There were no marks. No physical force. No resistance. Not likely at all.’
‘What you say, doctor, certainly makes my theory difficult,’ French admitted smoothly. ‘But the antecedent circumstances are such that murder is possible, and I’m sure you will agree that the matter must be put beyond any doubt.’
‘No doubt now. Made my examination. What you want next?’
‘A post-mortem, doctor. Awfully sorry to give you the trouble and all that, but Superintendent Hunt agrees that it is really necessary.’
The doctor was full of scorn at the idea. He had made an examination of the remains in his own way and that should be sufficient for any layman.
But it was not sufficient for French. He held to his point and it was arranged that the post-mortem should take place immediately.
‘A word in your ear, Dr Hills,’ French added. ‘Keep the idea of subtle murder before you. These are clever people, these three whom I suspect, and they’ll not have adopted anything very obvious.’
‘Teach grandmother … suck eggs,’ barked the doctor, but there was a humorous twinkle in his eyes at which French could smile back with a feeling of confidence that the work would be done thoroughly and competently.
‘He’s always like that,’ the sergeant volunteered. ‘He pretends to be annoyed at everything, but he’s really one of the best and a dam’ good doctor too. He’ll make that examination as carefully as the best London specialist and you’ll get as good an opinion when he’s finished.’
If time was a criterion, the job was certainly being well done. French, sitting in the nearest approach to an easy chair that the sergeant’s office boasted, had read the evening paper diligently, had smoked three pipes, and finally had indulged in a good many more than forty winks, before Dr Hills returned.
‘Kept you up, Inspector?’ he remarked, glancing at the clock, whose hands registered half past three. ‘Ah, well, been worth it. Found something. You’ll not guess. No sign of murder. No force applied. No resistance made. Death by drowning only. All as I said. But—’ He paused in his stream of explosives and waited impressively. ‘But—water in lungs and stomach—fresh, Inspector, fresh. What do you make of that?’
French was considerably impressed.
‘What do you make of it yourself, doctor?’ he asked.
‘Drowned in the sea. Fresh water in lungs. Pretty problem. Your funeral.’ He shrugged his shoulders, gave a quick, friendly smile, barked ‘Night!’ and was gone.
The problem with which Dr Hills had presented French was not so difficult as it appeared at first sight. There could indeed be only one solution, but that solution carried with it the proof of what French had up to then only suspected, that Thurza Darke’s death was the result of neither accident nor suicide, but definitely of murder.
If the water which the poor girl had swallowed were fresh, it obviously followed that she had been drowned in fresh water, her body having afterwards been put into the sea. Why the three fiends had committed their revolting crime in this way French did not know, but it was clear that the placing of the body in the sea could have been done with but one object—to conceal the fact of murder by creating the appearance of accident. And had it not been for the special knowledge which French possessed, it was more than likely that the trick would have been successful.
A further problem immediately arose, trifling in comparison to that of the girl’s death, but still requiring a decision. Should the discovery be mentioned at the inquest?
To allow the conspirators to suppose that their scheme had succeeded would have the obvious advantage of making them less careful. In the course of his career French had many times experienced the value of lulling his adversary to complacency, if not to sleep.
On the other hand it would be difficult to keep the matter quiet. The doctor would certainly refuse to hold back such material evidence. This would involve confiding in the coroner and adjourning the inquiry on some technical ground, as that official would not allow a verdict inconsistant with the facts to be returned. But an adjournment would not have the effect desired by French. Until the case was finally disposed of and a verdict of accidental death returned, the murderers would remain on tenterhooks, alert and careful.
Eventually French came to the conclusion that it would be best to let matters take their own course. At the same time he would try to keep out of the affair, so that Scotland Yard’s interest in it might remain a secret.
In this case he would not give evidence of identity. His decision therefore plunged Sergeant Golightly into an orgie of telephoning, in order that the inquest might be postponed until he could secure the attendance of Mrs Peters, the deceased girl’s landlady.
The proceedings opened in the early afternoon. French had taken his seat amongst the crowd of loafers and other casuals who invariably attended such gatherings, and held no converse with the police. The room was crowded, the affair having produced a mild sensation.
The first witness was a tall, bronzed man of about thirty, named Austin Munn. He deposed that he lived at Lee-on-the-Solent and was the owner of the schooner yacht Thisbe. At about 6.30 on the previous morning he and three yachting friends had started off in the Thisbe for a long day’s sail. They were going east through Spithead and towards Brighton. When they were passing through Stokes Bay, some three or four miles from Lee, he saw something in the water. He was at the tiller and he altered course to pass it closely. When they came near they saw that it was the body of a young woman. They hove to immediately and brought it aboard. They tried artificial respiration for over an hour, though none of them thought it would be any good. The girl looked as if she had been dead for some hours. The body was that on which the inquest was being held. They turned into Portsmouth and on arrival one of his friends had gone to inform the police. The sergeant had come down at once and arranged for the removal of the remains.
Sergeant Golightly stated that about 8.30 on the previous morning Mr Lewis Pershaw, one of Mr Munn’s yachting party, reported that his yacht had picked up the body of a young woman when starting out for a cruise. He, Golightly, had gone down and taken charge of the remains. The deceased was dressed in a light fawn coat and skirt, with white silk blouse, flesh-coloured stockings and black patent shoes. She had no hat. On her left wrist was a watch which had stopped at seven minutes past one. She wore a necklace and earrings of imitation pearls. Her face was calm and peaceful.
As a result of his inquiries he had learnt that