“Pauline,” Bruce called.
The girl joined them. Brennan seemed to be waiting for Bruce to leave, but the doctor made no move.
“It’s this sentence,” Brennan said at last.
He unfolded the sheet of paper he had been holding and pointed to a line near the top.
“I cannot quite understand it. Could you possibly have made an error in copying, do you think?”
The girl read, frowning.
“No, I...I don’t think so, Mr Brennan.”
“Perhaps if we compared it with the original...?”
“But I’m afraid you can’t. Not now.”
Brennan raised his brows.
“Well, it’s with the other things for posting that I took across to the house a few minutes ago just before Mrs Meadow left for the hospital.” She turned to Bruce. “I thought that in the circumstances she ought to decide which letters should be sent off.”
“Quite right, Pauline.”
Brennan shrugged and gave a faint smile.
“I suppose,” Bruce said doubtfully, “that you could call later and explain to Mrs Meadow...”
“No, I would not dream of it. The matter is of no consequence.”
Brennan slipped the sheet of typescript into his case, gave another short bow, turned and left.
Bruce apologized to Purbright for the interruption.
“Miss Sutton tells me that you’d like to put a few questions to her, inspector. Perhaps you could do that first. It’s been a rather trying day for her.”
“Of course. Now then, Pauline, what I am going to have to do is make a report to the coroner. That is standard procedure in all cases of sudden death. It doesn’t mean that we are suspicious of anybody. We just have to establish exactly what happened.”
He searched in his pockets until he had found an envelope and a short piece of pencil.
“Firstly, I should like to know when you yourself last saw Dr Meadow.”
“About half-past four this afternoon.”
“As long ago as that?”
“Yes, I’d been typing an article for him. That and a few letters. He went back to the house at half-past four to get his tea.”
“What about your tea?”
“I made a cup here. He didn’t tell me until I’d finished typing his article that he wanted a copy made, so I stayed on.”
“At what time did surgery begin?
“Six o’clock.”
“And didn’t you see him then?”
“No, he always came into his consulting room by its own side door and rang for the first patient when he was ready.”
“I see. He seemed fit, did he, when he left you at four-thirty?”
“Perfectly. I’ve never known him to be anything else, as a matter of fact.”
“Perhaps I should say,” interjected Dr Bruce, “that my partner was, in fact, suffering a certain degree of hypertension. Miss Sutton here wouldn’t have known that, of course, but I think you’ll find that Dr James, in Priorgate, will confirm what I say.”
“Dr James was treating him, was he?”
“Well, he was certainly advising him. That I do know.”
Purbright again faced the receptionist.
“I presume that someone was with Dr Meadow when he collapsed. A patient.”
“Yes. Mrs McCreavy. She’s been taken home.”
“I’ll have her address, if I may.”
The girl went to the hatch and returned with the bunch of record cards. Purbright looked at them.
“Are these all patients who were seen by Dr Meadow this evening?”
“Not all.. These three. Mr Leadbetter was first in. Then Mrs Grope...”
“Mrs Grope? Mr Walter Grope’s wife?”
“That’s right. And Mrs McCreavy was the last. A girl called Hewson was waiting and so was the lady you met when you came in—Miss...Teatime, is it?”
