"That's it, sir. Were you pulling my leg?"
"Oh, damn it, man, this is serious! Miss Bolton was a patient of mine. I don't let any one but me kill my patients."
"Very proper, I'm sure," the Superintendent agreed. "But we have watched him, doctor. Nothing doing."
"Set a man to stand on his doorstep, I suppose. What's the good of that?"
"As you say," the Superintendent agreed. "We've picked up one thing, though. Just before the murder his father turned him down for wanting to marry this girl Weston. He hasn't a penny except from his father. That might have made him desperate—him and the girl. It does grow, you know, doctor."
"Queer case," Reggie grunted. "Going to the inquest? Sorry I can't drive you down. My chauffeur's taking a day off."
So they walked to the coroner's court, and on the way Superintendent Bell used his large experience in the art of extracting confidences in vain. But Reggie mellowed, perceptibly mellowed, as he baffled Superintendent Bell.
The court was crowded to its last inch. The coroner was conscious of his importance, and made the most of it in a long harangue. The divisional surgeon was more pompous than ever, and made it
