CHAPTER 20The inn lounge was full of people. The fishermen who had brought Ogle’s body, Inspector Kirtin, Sergeant York, the potboy. The place on the floor where the broken body had been was wet, but it was empty. Mrs. Humpage was not in sight, nor was Kathleen, but Darcy Atwater was there with Fleetwood, standing behind the other, against the window, looking on. A pale hysterical woman whom Mr. Pinkerton had not seen was talking to Kirtin.
“I don’t know how long he’d been there. He wasn’t there at six, because I went out to fetch some coals to hotten the fire for supper. After supper I washed up and me and my husband were going round to have a little something at the pub. I went out to put the lock on the bin, and there he was, all crumpled up behind it, his arm sticking out over the top
