“Not at all,” the other answered. “I couldn’t have covered my findings better myself, excepting I was less certain about the breaking of the collar bone, whether it was before or after death. If he had gone over the Falls, for instance, head first, might he not have struck a rock and broken his collar bone, so as to give the appearance of its being shattered by a blow dealt from above?” “It’s not simply that,” said the doctor. “There’s the swelling of the living flesh that could not take place if the blow occurred after death. The injury must have occurred long enough before death to produce this effect.” “Then it could hardly have been the blow that knocked him into the water?” The doctor started at the question and, without answering, walked back to the body and re-examined the broken bone and some of the other bruises. Then he came back to where Trafford and the coroner waited him. “There can’t be any question that the broken clavicle antedates death, and antedates it some few hours. The man may have been injured at some distance from any one and have taken a boat to go for assistance and not been able to control it.” “He might have done any one of a dozen things,” Trafford interposed impatiently; “but the thing is to find out which one he did do. How did he get this injury, and how did he come to his drowning after the injury; for I take it you’ll admit when death came, it did come through drowning.” “I think we’ll have to admit that,” the doctor returned. “Then we have an injury, one, two, perhaps three hours before death; and then death by drowning. If all this was the result of accident, don’t you think he was having more than his fair share, crowded into a pretty small space of time?” It was Trafford’s question. “You mean,” demanded the coroner, a trifle uneasily, “that we’ve got another murder on our hands before the first one is cleared up?” “I mean,” said Trafford; “that if we have, it may prove easier to unravel two murders than one.” They walked slowly back and looked at the face that was gashed beyond human recognition. Was this he who had cried so piteously on Millbank Bridge, “_Sacré; c’est moi, Pierre!_”? If so, what had been the history of the few hours that elapsed before he plunged into the river to the death meant for Trafford? How was that plunge made? Where was the Pierre who had struck the blow on the bridge, and who must be able to tell the story of the man’s drowning? These were the questions which were dinning themselves in Trafford’s brain and imperiously demanding an answer.