“Instead of abolishing coroners we ought to double their salaries.”

The coroner made a long squeak as an indication of mirth.

“You think unfriendly spooks did it.  I’ve always believed you were an old fogy.  Hanged if that doesn’t sound modern.”

The doctor ran his fingers through his thick, untidy hair.

“I merely ask for the implement that caused death.  I only ask to know how it was inserted through the bed while Blackburn lay on his back.  And if you’ve time you might tell me how the murderer entered the room last night and to-day.”

The coroner repeated his squeak.  He glanced at the little group by the fire.

“Out in the kitchen, upstairs, or right here under our noses is almost certainly the person who could tell us.  Interesting case, Howells!”

Howells, who still watched the doctor, answered dryly: 

“Unusually interesting.”

The coroner struggled into his coat.

“Permits are all available,” he squeaked.  “Have your undertakers out when you like.”

Graham answered him brusquely.

“Everything’s arranged.  I’ve only to telephone.”

The coroner nodded at Doctor Groom.  His voice pointed its humour with a thinner tone.

“If I were you, Howells, I’d take this hairy old theorist up as a suspicious character.”

The doctor made a movement in his direction while Howells continued to stare.  The doctor checked himself.  He went to the closet and got his hat and coat.

“Want me to drop you, old sawbones?” the coroner asked.

Savagely the doctor shook his head.

“My buggy’s in the stable.”

The coroner’s squeak was thinner, more irritating than ever.

“Then don’t let the spooks get you, driving through the woods.  Old folks say there are a-plenty there.”

Bobby arose.  He couldn’t face the prospect of the man’s squeaking again.

“We find nothing to laugh at in this situation,” he said.  “You’re quite through?”

The coroner’s eyes blazed.

“I’m through, if that’s the way you feel.  Goodnight.”  He added with a sharp maliciousness:  “I leave my sympathy for whoever Howells has his eagle eye on.”

Howells, when the doctor and the coroner had gone, excused himself with a humility that mocked the others: 

“With your permission I shall write in the library until dinner.”

He bowed and left.

“He wants to work on his report,” Graham suggested.

“An exceptional man!” Paredes murmured.

“Has he questioned you?” Graham asked.

“I’d scarcely call it that,” Paredes replied.  “We’ve both questioned, and we’ve both been clams.  I fancy he doesn’t think much of me since I believe in ghosts, yet the doctor seems to interest him.”

“Where were you?” Graham asked, “when Miss Perrine’s scream called us?”

Paredes stifled a yawn.