replies. I haven't had time yet to go through them carefully. What took him down to see Fletcher at nine o'clock at night?"
"That's where the narrative got what you might call abstruse," replied the Sergeant. "Nor, if you was to ask me, should I say that I actually believed all that Budd told me. Sweating very freely, he was. But then, it's been a hot day, and he's a fleshy man. However, the gist of it was that owing to the difficulty of hearing very well over the telephone there was some sort of misunderstanding about some highly confidential instructions issued by the late Ernest in - er - a still more highly confidential deal. Our Mr. Budd, not wishing to entrust any more of this hush-hush business to the telephone, went off to see the late Ernest in person."
"It sounds very fishy," said Hannasyde.
"That's nothing to what it smelt like," said the Sergeant. "I had to open the window. But bearing in mind that the man we're after isn't Budd, I didn't press the matter much. What I did see fit to ask him, though, was whether the aforesaid misunderstanding had led to any unpleasantness with the late Ernest."
Hannasyde nodded. "Quite right. What did he say?"
"Oh, he behaved as though I was his Father Confessor!" said the Sergeant. That may have been on account of my nice, kind personality, or, on the other hand, it may not. But he opened right out like a poppy in the sun."
"I can do without these poetical flights," said Hannasyde.
Just as you say, Chief. Anyway, he took me right to his bosom. Fairly oozed natural oil, and what I took to be highly unnatural frankness. He didn't keep a thing from me - nothing I'd already got wind of, at any rate. There was a little unpleasantness, due to the late Ernest's having assumed that certain of his instructions had been acted on, which, owing to the telephone and one thing and another, they hadn't been. However, once the late Ernest had got over his naughty temper, all became jake again, and they parted like brothers."
"Oh!" said Hannasyde. "Quite plausible. It might be true."
"Yes, but I'll tell you a funny thing," said the Sergeant. "I've been swotting flies all day, but the whole time little Abraham was with me I never saw a fly settle on him, not once."
"Oh!" said Hannasyde again. "Like that, is he?"
"Yes," replied the Sergeant. "He is. What's more, Super, though you and I may not see eye to eye about Psychology, I know when a man's got the wind up. Little Abraham was having quite a job to keep his feet down on the ground. But I'm bound to say he did it. He answered all my questions before I'd even had time to ask them, too. Gave me a word-picture of his state of mind when he read about the late Ernest's death that was a masterpiece. First you could have knocked him down with a feather; then he thought, why, it must have happened not half-an-hour after he had left the late Ernest. After that he hoped he wouldn't get mixed up in it, and from there it was only a matter of seconds before he remembered handing the late Ernest's butler his card; and, on top of that, having Ernest address him in a loud and angry voice. Finally, it struck him like a thunder-clap that the late Ernest had shown him out by the side gate, so that no other person had witnessed his departure. Having assembled all these facts, he perceived that he was in a very compromising situation, and the only thing to be done was to come straight round to the kind police, whom he was brought up to look upon as his best friends."
Hannasyde was frowning. "It's almost too plausible. What did you do?"
"Gave him a piece of toffee, and sent him home to his mother," answered the Sergeant promptly.
Hannasyde, who knew his Sergeant, apparently approved of this somewhat unorthodox conduct, for he said: "Yes, about the best thing you could do. He'll keep. Now, what about this Charlie Carpenter you spoke of over the telephone?"
The Sergeant abandoned flippancy for the moment. "A packet!" he said. "That's where we come on the
"That's where the narrative got what you might call abstruse," replied the Sergeant. "Nor, if you was to ask me, should I say that I actually believed all that Budd told me. Sweating very freely, he was. But then, it's been a hot day, and he's a fleshy man. However, the gist of it was that owing to the difficulty of hearing very well over the telephone there was some sort of misunderstanding about some highly confidential instructions issued by the late Ernest in - er - a still more highly confidential deal. Our Mr. Budd, not wishing to entrust any more of this hush-hush business to the telephone, went off to see the late Ernest in person."
"It sounds very fishy," said Hannasyde.
"That's nothing to what it smelt like," said the Sergeant. "I had to open the window. But bearing in mind that the man we're after isn't Budd, I didn't press the matter much. What I did see fit to ask him, though, was whether the aforesaid misunderstanding had led to any unpleasantness with the late Ernest."
Hannasyde nodded. "Quite right. What did he say?"
"Oh, he behaved as though I was his Father Confessor!" said the Sergeant. That may have been on account of my nice, kind personality, or, on the other hand, it may not. But he opened right out like a poppy in the sun."
"I can do without these poetical flights," said Hannasyde.
Just as you say, Chief. Anyway, he took me right to his bosom. Fairly oozed natural oil, and what I took to be highly unnatural frankness. He didn't keep a thing from me - nothing I'd already got wind of, at any rate. There was a little unpleasantness, due to the late Ernest's having assumed that certain of his instructions had been acted on, which, owing to the telephone and one thing and another, they hadn't been. However, once the late Ernest had got over his naughty temper, all became jake again, and they parted like brothers."
"Oh!" said Hannasyde. "Quite plausible. It might be true."
"Yes, but I'll tell you a funny thing," said the Sergeant. "I've been swotting flies all day, but the whole time little Abraham was with me I never saw a fly settle on him, not once."
"Oh!" said Hannasyde again. "Like that, is he?"
"Yes," replied the Sergeant. "He is. What's more, Super, though you and I may not see eye to eye about Psychology, I know when a man's got the wind up. Little Abraham was having quite a job to keep his feet down on the ground. But I'm bound to say he did it. He answered all my questions before I'd even had time to ask them, too. Gave me a word-picture of his state of mind when he read about the late Ernest's death that was a masterpiece. First you could have knocked him down with a feather; then he thought, why, it must have happened not half-an-hour after he had left the late Ernest. After that he hoped he wouldn't get mixed up in it, and from there it was only a matter of seconds before he remembered handing the late Ernest's butler his card; and, on top of that, having Ernest address him in a loud and angry voice. Finally, it struck him like a thunder-clap that the late Ernest had shown him out by the side gate, so that no other person had witnessed his departure. Having assembled all these facts, he perceived that he was in a very compromising situation, and the only thing to be done was to come straight round to the kind police, whom he was brought up to look upon as his best friends."
Hannasyde was frowning. "It's almost too plausible. What did you do?"
"Gave him a piece of toffee, and sent him home to his mother," answered the Sergeant promptly.
Hannasyde, who knew his Sergeant, apparently approved of this somewhat unorthodox conduct, for he said: "Yes, about the best thing you could do. He'll keep. Now, what about this Charlie Carpenter you spoke of over the telephone?"
The Sergeant abandoned flippancy for the moment. "A packet!" he said. "That's where we come on the
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