Armadale apparently realised that Rafford was not the sort of person who could be bluffed easily. He tried a fresh line. “When do you think the death took place?” The doctor considered for a moment. “It's no good giving you a definite hour,” he said. “You know as well as I do how much the symptoms vary from case to case. I think it's quite on the cards that he died some time about the middle of the night or a little earlier. But you couldn't get me to swear to that in the box, I warn you.” “I've often heard it said,” the inspector commented in a disconsolate tone, “that you scientific people make the worst witnesses. You never will say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ plainly like ordinary people. You're always hedging and qualifying.” “Had a training in accuracy, I expect,” Rafford replied. “We don't feel inclined to swear to things until we're convinced about them ourselves.” Armadale evidently decided not to pursue the subject further. “What about the body?” he asked. “I sent Sapcote up to look after it—the village constable. He's up at Foxhills now. If it was to be left for your examination somebody had to be there to see it wasn't disturbed.” The inspector nodded approvingly. “Quite right. And I suppose I can get hold of this youngster—Colby's his name, isn't it?—any time I need him?” Rafford gave him the boy's address, which he took down in his note-book. “Anything else you can think of that might be useful?” he inquired, putting the book back into his pocket. The doctor shook his head. “Nix. I suppose the coroner will want a look in?” “I expect so,” Armadale replied. He glanced at Wendover and Sir Clinton to indicate that he now left the field to them. Wendover took advantage of the tacit permission. “You didn't see anything that suggested poison, did you?” he asked the doctor. Rafford's faint smile put an edge on his reply: “I believe I said that if it hadn't been for the marks on the wrists, I'd have certified congestion of the brain. I don't think poison marks the wrists.” Wendover, feeling that he had hardly shone by his interposition, refrained from further questions and glanced at Sir Clinton. The chief constable appeared to think that further inquiries could be allowed to stand over for a time. “I think we'd better be moving on,” he suggested. “Thanks for your help, Dr. Rafford. Once we've seen the body, perhaps something fresh may turn up, and we may have to trouble you again. By the way,” he added, “did you notice if there was a heavy dew last night? I was playing bridge at the hotel and didn't go out after dinner; but perhaps you were out and can tell me.” “The dew did come down fairly heavy,” Rafford said, after a pause for recollection. “I happened to be out at a case, and I noticed it. Are you thinking about the possibility of Hay's death being due to exposure?”