Frost snorted. “Investigate what? Illicit peeing after hours?”

“There’s plenty of copper and lead piping down there, Inspector,” Shelby pointed out. “They could have been after that.”

“Sorry, son,” Frost apologized, ‘you’re quite right. Carry on. I’ll try and keep my big mouth shut.”

“Not much more to tell, sir. Iwent down and found this tramp sprawled on the floor. As far as I could tell, he was dead. Dr. Cadman only lives round the corner, so I nipped round and brought him back.”

The inspector dragged on his cigarette. “Pity you didn’t just call an ambulance and let the hospital take over.”

“He might not have been dead, sir. The doctor would have been quicker.”

Frost nodded gloomily and said, “You’re right again, son. Pity you have to be so bloody right on the night of the big booze-up. What did the quack say?”

“Doctor Cadman found damage and bleeding at the base of the skull. He reckoned death was caused by a blow to the head.”

Frost stared moodily into the darkness. He knew Dr. Cadman. Knew him well. Cadman had been his wife’s doctor. It was Cadman who had diagnosed stomach pains as mere indigestion and kept prescribing the white peppermint mixture until the unbearable pains drove her to hospital. “An old tramp, you say?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen him knocking around the district, but I don’t know his name.”

“I suppose we can’t put the evil moment off.” Frost pinched out his cigarette and stuffed the butt back into the packet. “Let’s get inside before people think you’re trying to pick me up.”

One hand gripping the brass handrail, he followed Shelby’s torch cautiously down stone steps worn concave in the middle from the traffic of thousands of hurrying feet. The echoing, monotonous plopping sound of dripping water grew louder.

“Do you know which police surgeon they’re sending us?”