It was a short walk to the Nursing Home and on arrival, a young red-haired porter found the duty doctor: Doctor De’ath, quickly. There were other doctors in the town, but De’ath was known to everyone. He was a real advocate of community care in a time when only the rich could afford to pay for treatment.
De’ath was straight with his answers. “A Mr Sear? No, I don’t recall anyone with that name but there was a man yesterday with fair hair?” Jeeves nodded and De’ath continued “He presented with a severe injury at the back of his head.”
“That sounds like our victim. How did he seem?”
The Doctor glanced around, drawing Jeeves further away from the porter, who was fussing around some task near the door. “Well, not well, truthfully. He stank of gin more than any man I’ve met for a good long while. The injury, he claimed, was an accident, but I was sceptical. In large part because he refused to tell us his name. The only other thing I can recall is that he said he’d hit his head in the market, then come straight over.”