The witness then told of the telephone call. Though this had surprised her, never having heard Miss Darke mention any of her relations, she had not doubted its genuineness at the time. It was not till afterwards that she had learnt from the police that Miss Darke had not sent it.
The fat was then in the fire. When Mrs. Peters left the box Sergeant Golightly was recalled and asked if he had made inquiries into the authorship of the message. His reply that he had ascertained that it had not been sent by any of the officials at the cinema was the first hint those present had received that the case might not be quite so straightforward as up to then it had seemed. Interest in the proceedings perceptibly quickened and the spectators leant forward and fixed their eyes more intently on the witness. But except to obtain the statement that Golightly had been unable to trace the call and had no idea who sent it, the coroner had no further questions to ask.
Dr. Hills was the next witness. He deposed that he had at first made an external examination of the remains, by means of which he had satisfied himself that the deceased had died from drowning. He gave technical details as to the condition of the body, stating that in his opinion death had taken place some eight to nine hours previous to his inspection. That had been made about and this, if he was correct in his opinion, would place the hour of death somewhere between and in the morning.
“That would agree with the time at which the watch stopped,” the coroner remarked, turning over his notes. “The hands were pointing to , Sergeant Golightly has told us. Now, Dr. Hills, you said that at first you made an external examination of the remains. What exactly did you mean by ‘at first’?”
“Last night late police came to my house. Said they were not satisfied. Had an idea there might be foul play. Wanted a postmortem. I made it with Dr. Carswell.”
“And did you find anything which might be taken to support their idea?” the coroner asked, while the recently aroused interest intensified.
The doctor hesitated.
“Found a peculiar fact,” he answered. “Outside my province to draw inferences.”
“And the fact?”
“Water in the lungs and stomach was fresh.”
The statement produced something in the nature of a sensation. The faces of most of those present assumed an expression of bewilderment, but a few seemed instantly to grasp its significance.
“And what,” went on the coroner smoothly, “did this fact convey to you?”
Dr. Hills shrugged. “Girl was drowned,” he declared, “but not in sea. Couldn’t have put herself into sea. Body must have been put in by someone else. Least, strikes me that way.”
“Did the remains show any sign of force or compulsion?”
“None.”
For a moment the coroner hesitated when he had written down this reply, his forehead wrinkled from thought.
“Now, doctor,” he said at last, “you know this country pretty well, I take it?”
“Lived here all my life.”
“Is there, so far as you know, any river or fresh water area into which this poor girl could have fallen and from which her body could have been carried to the sea where it was found?”
“Don’t know of any.”
Again the coroner hesitated.
“It must be evident to you, Dr. Hills, that your evidence suggests at least the possibility of foul play. I want to ask you now, not only from a medical point of view, but also from your experience as a man of the world, whether you can suggest any explanation of the facts other than that of the murder of the deceased?”
At the ominous word a little ripple of movement passed over the assembly, followed immediately by a silence as those present settled down to listen even more intently. Dr. Hills shrugged again.
“Utmost respect: scarcely my province. Since you ask: private opinion: girl was murdered.”
“But there is no definite medical evidence for that view?”
“None. Girl was drowned in fresh water. That is all.”
The coroner looked round.
“Would any member of the jury like to ask the witness a question before he stands down?”
A small foxy-faced man like a tradesman or small shopkeeper rose to his feet.
“I would like to ask the doctor just what the police said to him about foul play, and then I would like to ask the sergeant just what made him say it.”
“That is an important point and one I have already noted,” the coroner replied. “Dr. Hills stated,”—he referred to his notes—“that he was asked to make a postmortem, as the police had an idea there might be foul play. Have you anything further, Dr. Hills, to add to that statement?”
“Nothing. That covers everything.”
“The nature of the police suspicion was not revealed?”
“No. Not in detail.”
“And was the doctor not curious? Did he not ask?” interjected the foxy-faced juror.
The coroner frowned. “The witness has said the nature of the suspicions was not revealed in detail,” he said coldly, glancing at the juror. “Were you told in a general way that murder was feared?”
“In a general way, yes. No details.”
“Who spoke to you on the subject?”
This was the question French was dreading. If the matter were pressed, there would be nothing for it but for him to give evidence.
The doctor looked as if he were going to hedge, then he seemed to think better of it and answered:
“Sergeant Golightly and a representative, as I understood it, from Scotland Yard.”
At this a little ripple of movement swept over the assembly. From the spectators’ point of view things were going better and better.
“And it was the Scotland Yard man, I presume, who promulgated the suspicion?”
“That is so.”
“You may stand down, doctor, but please don’t go away. Recall Sergeant Golightly. You didn’t tell us, sergeant, that you had received a visit from an officer of Scotland Yard.”
“You may rest assured, sir, that all the essential facts would have been put before
