"
Marston Greyle started.
"Inquest!" he said. "Oh!--will that have to be held? I suppose so--yes.
But we'd better wait until the doctor comes, hadn't we? I want him--"
The doctor came into the gloomy vault at that moment, escorted by
Chatfield, who, however, immediately retired. He was an elderly,
old-fashioned somewhat fussy-mannered person, who evidently attached
much more importance to the living Squire than to the dead man, and he
listened to all Marston Greyle's explanations and theories with great
deference and accepted each without demur. "Ah yes, to be sure!" he said,
after a perfunctory examination of the body. "The affair is easily
understood. It is precisely as you suggest, Squire. The unfortunate man
evidently climbed to the top of the tower, missed his footing, and fell
headlong. That slight mass of branch and leaf would make little
difference--he was, you see, a heavy man--some fourteen or fifteen stone,
I should think. Oh, instantaneous death, without a doubt! Well, well,
these constables must see to the removal of the body, and we must let my
friend the coroner know--he will hold the inquest tomorrow, no doubt.
Quite a mere formality, my dear sir!--the whole thing is as plain as a
pikestaff. It will be a relief to know that the mystery is now
satisfactorily solved."
Outside in the welcome freshness, Copplestone turned to the doctor.
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