“So I suppose he put a pair of female shoes on his hands and walked along on them beside Mrs. Vane to disguise his footmarks?” queried Roger.
“He could easily fake those,” Anthony returned, unmoved by this facetiousness. “The inspector himself said footprints were the easiest thing in the world to fake.”
“Within limits,” Roger demurred. “Besides, you must remember that the letter, which looked so suspicious at first, has rather lost its importance. I told you, it didn’t refer to that Tuesday at all; it was for last Tuesday fortnight.”
“You told me he said it was,” Anthony retorted cunningly. “But he can’t prove it, can he? You’ve only got his bare word to go on. And if he did push her over, it seems to me he wouldn’t jib at telling you a naughty fib or two, dear Roger.”
“Anthony, you overwhelm me!” Roger murmured. “To think that such a possibility had never occurred to my simple mind. That’s the worst of having such a trustful nature, I always believe everything I’m told. If you were to tell me for instance that you’d been singing the Indian Love Lyrics to a jellyfish between the hours of nine and eleven-thirty this evening, I should believe you instantly.”
Anthony’s reply is unprintable.
When peace had been restored:
“You still haven’t told me what we’re coming here for,” Anthony remarked.
They had reached the head of the nearer flight of steps, and Roger began to descend, flashing his torch before and behind him for the benefit of the following Anthony. “To have a look at that cave of course,” he replied over his shoulder.
“But why the hurry?”