side by an eight-foot brick wall.
Dr Thornborough rose slowly to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed upon the dead man’s face. ‘This is pretty ghastly,’ he muttered, more to himself than to Linton. ‘Uncle Bob dead like this, and here of all places. I don’t begin to understand it.’ He looked up suddenly and faced the policeman. ‘What are we going to do about it, Linton?’ he asked helplessly.
‘It’s my duty to take particulars, sir,’ Linton replied rather stiffly. ‘To begin with, would you mind telling me this gentleman’s full name and address?’
‘His name is Robert Fransham,’ Dr Thornborough replied. ‘His age is fifty-eight and his address is 4 Cheveley Street, London, SW1. You’ve heard me call him Uncle Bob, but he’s not really my uncle, he’s my wife’s, and the devil of it is that his sister, my wife’s mother, is staying with us at this very moment.’
‘What in your opinion was the cause of death, sir?’
‘You can see that for yourself, I should think. A depressed fracture of the anterior portion of the skull, severe enough to cause immediate death.’
‘Can you suggest what could have caused such a fracture, sir?’
‘I can’t. That’s just the puzzle. The fracture was caused by the impact of some hard body, of course. And that body must have been of a definite shape. You know what a cube is, I suppose?’
‘I think so, sir. It’s the shape of dice or of lumps of sugar.’
‘That’s right. Well, the nature of this fracture suggests that Fransham was struck by the edge of a cube an inch and a half across. And if you can suggest how that happened, you’re cleverer than I am.’
‘Perhaps if we were to search the room, we should find the object, sir.’
‘You’re at liberty to search as much as you like. In fact, it seems to me that this business is up to you. Meanwhile, I’m faced with the particularly unpleasant task of breaking the news to my wife. She and her uncle were devoted to one another, and she’s going to take it pretty badly.’
Dr Thornborough walked slowly out of the room and Linton secured the door behind him. He had no wish to be interrupted at this stage of the proceedings. He was first in the field and meant to take full advantage of the fact.
The dead man was lying flat on his back at right angles to the wall on which the coat-hooks were fixed, and with his arms outstretched. His feet were towards the lavatory basin and a few inches from it in the horizontal direction. The basin itself was half full of soapy water, still warm.
Linton examined the dead man’s hands and found that they were damp and soapy. This, together with the position in which the body was lying, suggested that Mr Fransham must have been actually washing his hands when he was struck. A cake of soap still moist was lying on the floor beneath the basin. Two clean towels hung on a rail nearby. Their appearance indicated that neither of them had been used.
Linton took up his position in front of the basin as though he were about to wash his hands in it. Looking straight in front of him he found that his head was on a level with the open pane of the window. Further, his view of the wall on the opposite side of the carriage-way was not obstructed by the protecting bars. From the centre of the basin to these bars was a matter of thirty inches, measured horizontally.
Linton entered these facts in his notebook and shook his head forebodingly. He didn’t at all like the way in which things were shaping. But for the moment he had done everything that could be expected of him. It was time that he got into touch with his superiors.
He opened the door of the cloakroom and peeped out. There seemed to be nobody about, though he could hear the sound of voices behind the closed door of the dining-room. He went to the telephone instrument which stood on a table in the hall, and rang through to Sergeant Cload, keeping his eye on the cloakroom door meanwhile.
His report to the sergeant was very guarded, since he was not sure who might be listening to him.
‘I’m speaking from Dr Thornborough’s, sir. Mrs Thornborough’s uncle has been found dead under rather suspicious circumstances.’
It took Cload some seconds to realise the full import of this message. ‘What on earth do you mean!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘Let’s have the particulars, man.’
‘I’d rather you came and saw them for yourself, sir,’ Linton replied firmly.
‘Are you trying to hint that there’s been a murder at Dr Thornborough’s?’ the sergeant asked.
‘It looks very like it, sir. But least said, soonest mended.’
‘I see. This is a job for the super. I’ll get on to him at once and tell him what you’ve told me. Meanwhile you stay where you are and see that nothing’s interfered with.’
Linton remained in the hall, awaiting further instructions. From the dining-room came the sound of a woman sobbing and the voice of Dr Thornborough apparently trying to comfort her. From time to time another voice—that of a woman—chimed in. The news of the tragedy had not apparently reached the kitchen, judging by the sounds of merriment which penetrated the baize door. Linton approached this on tiptoe and pushed it gently open an inch or so. He heard two women laughing, apparently at something which was being said by a man with a hoarse voice. The latter was presumably the surly-faced chauffeur and the two women were Lucy and the cook.
Linton had not long to wait for his instructions. Before many minutes had passed a car turned at high speed into the drive and pulled up with a squeaking of brakes outside the front door. Linton, recognising the sound, opened the front door and saluted. Superintendent Yateley, expectant and alert, confronted him. ‘Where?’ he asked.
‘This way, sir,’ Linton replied.
He led the superintendent into the cloakroom and secured the lock behind them. Yateley glanced at the body and then rapidly round the room. ‘Who found him?’ he asked.
‘Dr Thornborough and I between us, sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me what you know about it.’
Linton gave an account of his sojourn in the consulting-room and of the events which followed it. Yateley listened attentively.
‘You’ve done pretty well so far, Linton,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s get the main facts perfectly clear. You heard this Mr Fransham go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind him?’
‘I heard somebody go in, sir, but of course I couldn’t see who it was.’
‘You did not hear the door open or shut again until you broke it down?’
‘No, sir.’
‘There was nobody in the room but the dead man when you broke in?’
‘No, sir. I’m perfectly certain of that.’
‘You have found no trace of any weapon which could have caused this wound?’
‘No trace at all, sir. But I haven’t moved the body to look underneath it.’
‘Quite right.’ The superintendent took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a line
