The Testimony of the Hanged Man (Lizzie Martin 5) by Granger Ann Page B

without further examination, that she went in some time during last night, before the tide went out. Some time before midnight, say? If her clothing caught against the railings, as described, that would have prevented her sinking to the bottom. As to whether she was alive or dead, that I cannot say without opening her up and examining the lungs. If she was alive, there will be river water in them and in the airways.’
    ‘I understand the face being bruised from hitting the water,’ I said. ‘But the bruises on the chest and abdomen, beneath the clothing?’
    The surgeon looked up at me, a surprisingly keen expression on his face. ‘Ah, you think you have a murder victim, do you? The body bruises look older to me than the ones on the face. She has been the victim of some violent assault, certainly, within the last week. I can tell you no more, Inspector, without further examination. All I can say is that those bruises didn’t kill her.’ He moved to the top of the trestle on which the poor wretch lay, and carefully parted her hair and turned her head, raising it to look at the back of the skull. ‘No visible head injury,’ he said. ‘You must be patient, Inspector, and await the result of the internal examination. Then I – or whoever conducts it – can tell you whether she was alive or dead when she went into the water.’
    I returned to Scotland Yard and told Morris I was satisfied that I had not seen Jane lying dead. As to what postmortem examination of the unknown corpse might reveal, that might not land on my desk. I would wait until it did, if it did.
    I also found a visitor awaiting me when I returned, Mr Canning. He jumped up from the chair Morris had provided for him and advanced on me, red in the face and little Vandyke beard aimed like a dagger at my chest.
    ‘I have been here almost an hour, Inspector Ross!’
    ‘I had to go and view a female body recovered from the river,’ I said brusquely. I had had more than enough of Hubert Canning, the respectable taxpayer.
    He paled at my words. ‘My wife?’ he gasped.
    ‘No, Mr Canning, not your wife. But I had to view the corpse to make sure.’
    The visitor sat down suddenly on the vacated chair, pulled out his handkerchief, took off his round hat and mopped his sweating brow. While I had him at a disadvantage, I listed all the steps we’d taken to find his wife. He nodded but appeared speechless.
    ‘Mr Canning, are you quite sure you have no idea what caused Mrs Canning to leave home in such a way? It does appear to have been quite voluntary on her part. We have found nothing to indicate a criminal gang such as you claimed had kidnapped her and Charlotte.’
    That rallied him. He stiffened, tucked away the handkerchief and said firmly, ‘She had no reason at all to behave in such a disgraceful way. She must have taken leave of her senses. Have you tried the asylums for the insane?’ He paused but I didn’t oblige him with an answer. In an obstinate voice, he went on, ‘I must have my daughter returned to me. As for my wife . . . See here, you must find the child.’
    With that he got up and stalked out. I was more than ever convinced that he knew why his wife had fled. Nor was he particularly concerned to have her returned. But his daughter, he did want her – and to find little Charlotte, I had to find her mother. I wondered whether Canning had gone back to his place of business or to his house. I decided it more likely to be his wine emporium, somewhere he felt in control. Being in control, I had decided, meant a great deal to Hubert Canning.
    ‘I am going to St John’s Wood to interview that nursemaid again,’ I told Morris.
    The door of Canning’s house was opened to me by the maid named, I recalled, Purvis.
    ‘The master is not here, sir,’ she said, as soon as she saw who stood on the step.
    ‘I have not come to see Mr Canning. I have come to see Ellen Brady, the nursemaid. Is she here?’
    Purvis blinked and a look of panic