"Hah! Wish you always did. This fixing the exact time by looking over a body is all poppycock anyway. The best we fellows can do is to approximate it. Rigor mortis works differently in different people. Don't ever take me too seriously, Sergeant, when I set an exact hour for you.—However, let's see. . . ."
He ran his hands over the body on the bed, unflexed the fingers, moved the head, and put his eye close to the coagulated blood about the wound. Then he teetered on his toes, and squinted at the ceiling.
"How about ten hours? Say, between eleven-thirty and midnight. How's that?"
Heath laughed good-naturedly.
"You hit it, doc—right on the head."
"Well, well! Always was a good guesser." Doctor Doremus seemed wholly indifferent.
Vance had followed Markham into the hall.
"An honest fellow, that archiater of yours. And to think he's a public servant of our beneficent government!"
"There are many honest men in public office," Markham reproved him.
"I know," sighed Vance. "Our democracy is still young. Give it time."
Heath joined us, and at the same moment the nurse appeared at Mrs. Greene's door. A querulous dictatorial voice issued from the depths of the room behind her.
". . . And you tell whoever's in charge that I want to see him—right away, do you understand! It's an outrage, all this commotion and excitement,
