“Not appreciably. I found nothing organic; no valvular disease. It was more like a tobacco heart. But it’s odd that Meeking didn’t mention the matter to me--he was my locum, you know. I handed the case over to him when I went on my holiday. And you say he signed the death certificate?” “Yes; and the ‘B’ certificate for cremation, too.” “Very odd,” said Dr. Barber. “Just come in and let us have a look at the day book.” We followed him into the consulting room, and there, while he was turning over the leaves of the day book, I ran my eye along the shelf over the writing-table from which he had taken it; on which I observed the usual collection of case books and books of certificates and notification forms, including the book of death certificates. “Yes,” said Dr. Barber, “here we are; ‘Ingle, Mr., Stock-Orchard Crescent.’ The last visit was on the 4th of September, and Meeking seems to have given some sort of certificate. Wonder if he used a printed form.” He took down two of the books and turned over the counterfoils. “Here we are,” he said presently; “‘Ingle, Jonathan, 4th September. Now recovered and able to resume duties.’ That doesn’t look like dying, does it? Still, we may as well make sure.” He reached down the book of death certificates and began to glance through the most recent entries. “No,” he said, turning over the leaves, “there doesn’t seem to be---- Hullo! What’s this? Two blank counterfoils; and about the date, too; between the 2nd and 13th of September. Extraordinary! Meeking is such a careful, reliable man.” He turned back to the day book and read through the fortnight’s entries. Then he looked up with an anxious frown. “I can’t make this out,” he said. “There is no record of any patient having died in that period.” “Where is Dr. Meeking at present?” I asked. “Somewhere in the South Atlantic,” replied Barber. “He left here three weeks ago to take up a post on a Royal Mail Boat. So he couldn’t have signed the certificate in any case.” That was all that Dr. Barber had to tell us, and a few minutes later we took our departure. “This case looks pretty fishy,” I remarked, as we turned down Tottenham Court Road. “Yes,” Thorndyke agreed. “There is evidently something radically wrong. And what strikes me especially is the cleverness of the fraud; the knowledge and judgment and foresight that are displayed.” “She took pretty considerable risks,” I observed. “Yes, but only the risks that were unavoidable. Everything that could be foreseen has been provided for. All the formalities have been complied with--in appearance. And you must notice, Jervis, that the scheme did actually succeed. The cremation has taken place. Nothing but the incalculable accident of the appearance of the real Mrs. Ingle and her vague and apparently groundless suspicions, prevented the success from being final. If she had not come on the scene, no questions would ever have been asked.”