“No, sir, your body was between me and his back. But I don’t think that answered Wagglebow’s description of the accident.” “And I saw the blow, sir, anyhow,” said Rawton. “I’m sure Lossett, if I’m placed right, couldn’t have said that he was sure no blow was struck.” “I think I should have known he’d been violently struck, sir,” said Smith, who had taken the part of Mr. Hessel. The Chief Inspector looked nettled at the reception of his rendering. “All right, have it your own way,” he said. “How much further does it take us?” “If I might bring the doctor along to your room, sir, and have a talk?” answered Poole. “That’ll do, you three—many thanks for your help. Kelly if you’re really hurt you’d better show yourself in the surgery.” “It’s no surgery I’m needing, sir; ’tis a mortuary I’m for.” The man’s half-doleful, half-laughing face restored even Barrod to good humour. “I’ll come and take your last wishes when you’re ready, Kelly,” he said. A minute later the three men were seated at the Chief Inspector’s table. “I fancy it amounts to this, sir,” said Poole. “The blow wasn’t struck on those steps at all.” “And the Peake woman’s evidence?” queried Barrod. “Oh, she’s a looney. No, sir; I don’t understand what that affair on the steps means—I’m convinced it has a meaning; but I believe Sir Garth was struck where he fell.” Barrod stared at him in silence for several seconds. “Humph!” he said at last. “Now look here, doctor,” said Poole, turning to the surgeon, “how soon after he was struck would you expect a man in that condition to fall—struck as Sir Garth was, that is, on the danger spot?” “At once.” “But he _might_ have walked a certain distance after being hit?” “A few steps perhaps—half a dozen.” “But surely you don’t exclude the possibility of his having walked further—from the Duke of York’s Steps to the place where he fell?” “I don’t know where he fell. I always assumed that it was a few paces beyond the Steps—you never told me anything to make me assume anything else. How far away did he fall?” “Thirty or forty yards.” “Good Lord, impossible! At least—wait a minute. If the injury to the aneurism was only slight—a very slight tear or puncture, so that the blood only oozed out, then he might have walked the distance you say before collapsing. If it burst on impact, he must have fallen within half a dozen paces.” “You can’t say which kind of injury it was?” “Not definitely now. It might have begun with a small tear and then become larger—it would look like a burst.” Poole stared at him. “And what are you driving at, Poole?” asked the Chief Inspector. “That Hessel himself struck Fratten?” Poole looked at his Chief coolly. “That’s jumping a bit far, sir, but we’ve no proof at the moment that he didn’t—only his own story.” “What about that chap at the House of Commons; didn’t he see Fratten fall?”