“Why, sir?” repeated the Inspector in tones of surprise. Inspector Cottingham had always regarded his measuring of the furniture as a primary stroke of immense and subtle cunning. True, it had led to nothing just as matters turned out, but it might have produced all sorts of exciting results; and anyhow, it smacked of the professional touch in a most gratifying way, and now here was this absurd Chief Constable wanting to know why.
“Well, for the same reason as I measured ’em last night, sir,” said the Inspector, playing for time. “Because—because—well——”
“In the Garfield case, Cottingham,” said the Colonel patiently, coming to the rescue, “as I keep telling you, you had a body. Here you haven’t. And you can’t do anything until the body is found. Therefore, the first thing to do is to find the body. I think I’ve said something like that before.”
The Inspector sighed, very gently. “But the body isn’t there, sir,” he pointed out. “And for why? Because they took it away with ’em.”
“How do you know they did?”
Here the Inspector was on surer ground. “Why, sir,” he countered triumphantly, “because the girl told Mr. Foster so.” This was the way things ought to be done. This was the way a real detective got his results. Not by chasing round, searching for bodies that weren’t there, but by sitting tight and looking official till somebody came along and revealed the whole thing.
“It didn’t occur to you, I suppose,” said the Colonel very mildly, “that she might not have been speaking the truth?”
“No, sir, it didn’t,” replied the Inspector firmly. “Why should it? She wouldn’t say anything at all if she wasn’t going to speak the truth. Why should she? Besides, Graves saw ’em taking the body away.” The Inspector felt he had scored a distinct point there. “That’s right,” he added, clinching it. “Graves saw ’em at it.”
“Have you had Copham Spinney searched, as I told you over the telephone?” asked the Colonel, changing the subject.
“Yes, sir. Graves had a look all round there and along that bank first thing this morning.” The Inspector spoke tolerantly, as one humouring a feeble-minded aunt. Graves had been sent to search Copham Spinney and the other bank because that was the Colonel’s orders, but both the Inspector and Graves himself had known it was a mere waste of time. And for why? Because the body was hundreds of miles away by this time, and on its way to foreign parts. That stood to reason. “He didn’t find anything though, of course,” he added, winking at a passing gate.