The Tightrope Men / The Enemy. Desmond Bagley

expression. He was a young-looking sixty or an aged forty – it was hard to determine which and Thornton was not going to tell anybody. It was not his habit to tell anyone anything that did not concern him and he was chary of doing even that. He could have been Carey’s boss but he was not; Carey was proud and pleased to be in another department.

      He lifted yellowed, dyspeptic eyes as Carey and McCready entered the room. Carey nodded to him curtly, and turned to Carlson. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ he said in a weary voice. He was very tired. ‘May I see it?’

      Carlson nodded without speaking and drew back the cloth. Carey looked down with an expressionless face and motioned for the cloth to be drawn back farther. ‘This is how he was found?’

      ‘The body has been cleaned externally,’ said Carlson. ‘It was covered with oil. And the manacles have been removed, of course.’

      Carey nodded. ‘Of course. There was no clothing?’

      ‘The man was naked.’

      McCready looked at Carey and raised his eyebrows. ‘The same as …’

      Carey was unaccountably clumsy. He turned and trod heavily on McCready’s foot. ‘Sorry, George.’ He turned to Carlson. ‘What was the cause of death, Doctor?’

      Carlson frowned. ‘That will have to await the autopsy,’ he said cautiously. ‘At the moment it is a question of whether he was drowned or poisoned.’

      Thornton stepped forward. ‘Did you say poisoned?’ Carey analysed the tone of voice. In spite of Thornton’s habitual flatness of expression he thought he detected a note of genuine surprise.

      ‘I’ll show you,’ said Carlson. He opened the jaws of the corpse and took a long spatula and thrust it down the throat. McCready winced and turned away. Carlson withdrew the spatula and held it out. ‘A scraping from the inside of the throat.’