"No, sir," replied the labourer, wiping his hands with an air of finality on the posterior aspect of his trousers; "that's the lot."
The surgeon looked thoughtfully at the bones as he gave a final touch to their arrangement, and remarked: "The inspector is right. All the bones of the neck are there. Very odd. Don't you think so?"
"You mean--"
"I mean that this very eccentric murderer seems to have given himself such an extraordinary amount of trouble for no reason that one can see. There are these neck vertebrae, for instance. He must have carefully separated the skull from the atlas instead of just cutting through the neck. Then there is the way he divided the trunk; the twelfth ribs have just come in with this lot, but the twelfth dorsal vertebra to which they belong was attached to the lower half. Imagine the trouble he must have taken to do that, and without cutting or hacking the bones about, either. It is extraordinary. This is rather interesting, by the way. Handle it carefully."
He picked up the breast-bone daintily--for it was covered with wet mud--and handed it to me with the remark: "That is the most definite piece of evidence we have."
"You mean," I said, "that the union of the two parts into a single mass fixes this as the skeleton of an elderly man?"
"Yes, that is the obvious suggestion, which is confirmed by the deposit of bone in the rib-cartilages. You can tell the inspector, Davis, that I have checked this lot of bones and that they are all here."
"Would you mind writing it down, sir?" said the constable. "Inspector Badger said I was to have everything in writing."
The surgeon took out his pocket-book, and, while he was selecting a suitable piece of paper, he asked: "Did you form any opinion as to the height of the deceased?"
"Yes, I thought he would be about five feet eight" (here I caught the sergeant's eyes fixed on me with a knowing leer).
"I made it five eight and a half," said the police-surgeon; "but we shall know better when we have seen the lower leg-bones. Where was this lot found, Davis?"
"In the pond just off the road in Lord's Bushes, sir, and the inspector has gone off now to--"
"Never mind where he's gone," interrupted the sergeant. "You just answer questions and attend to your business."
The sergeant's reproof conveyed a hint to me on which I was not slow to act. Friendly as my professional colleague was, it was clear that the police were disposed to treat me as an interloper who was to be kept out of the "know" as far as possible. Accordingly I thanked my colleague and the sergeant for their courtesy, and bidding them adieu until we should meet at the inquest, took my departure and walked away quickly until I found an inconspicuous position from which I could keep the door of the mortuary in view. A few moments later I saw Constable Davis emerge and stride away up the road.