“No sir, not properly. He was sitting up - well, when I say sitting, he was kind of slouching forward, if you know what I mean. I thought he was asleep. Him being in evening-dress, and his feet in the stocks like that, I never thought but what he's had a glass too many - so I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder to give him a bit of a shake and wake him up. Twice I shook him, and then it struck me there was something queer about him, and I felt the palm of my hand kind of wet and sticky, and I switched my torch on him - and then of course I saw he was dead. Me shaking him like that made him fall sideways, like you see.”

The Inspector nodded, his eyes on the Doctor, who was kneeling behind the body. “Sergeant Hamlyn says you identified him. Who is he? Don't seem to know his face.”

“Well, I daresay you might not, sir. It's Mr Vereker, of Riverside Cottage.”

“Oh!” said the Inspector with a little sniff. “One of those week-end people. Anything out of the way, Doctor?”

“I shall have to do a PM, of course,” grumbled the Doctor, getting up rather ponderously from his knees. “But it looks quite a straight case. Knife wound a little below the left shoulder-blade. Death probably occurred instantaneously.”

The Inspector watched him at work on the body for a moment or two, and presently asked: “Formed any opinion of the time it was done, sir?”

“Say two to four hours,” replied the Doctor, and straightened his back. “That's all for the present, thanks.”

The Inspector turned to Constable Dickenson. “Know how the body was sitting when you found it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Put it back as near as you can. Ready with that flashlight, Thompson?”

Constable Dickenson did not care much for the task allotted him, but he went up at once to the body and raised it to the original position, and carefully laid one arm across the stiffening legs. The Inspector watched him in silence, and, when he stepped back at last, made a sign to the photographer.