Dr. John Watson

Hello, I think I'm stuck.

If you'll pull his other arm, Sir George.

Right.

Oh, phew.

Phew, glad to get out of that.

I told you you'd go on a diet, Watson.

Oh, just because you're satisfied to look like a walking skeleton, you're... Hello, this is a gloomy-looking spot.

More like a tomb than the sort of place one thinks of as an elegant Roman bathing establishment.

Although how he was able to insinuate himself into this chamber... Yes, quite...

A superficial survey of the walls and ceilings certainly shows no signs of any recent entry, except by way of the hole through which we just dragged Watson.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Yes, suppose we view the body we came to investigate.

Here he is, exactly as we found him, lying on his face with one arm stretched over his head.

He's a skinny old boy, wasn't he?

I say, these robes, or whatever it is he's wearing, they are sopping wet.

Yes, the poor fellow was undoubtedly drowned.

Lung still full of water.

Extremities icy, rigor well advanced.

He's been dead six to eight hours, I should say.