"Mmph. All right, little sunshine!"
"I don't care anything about suspicion. I want proof. Until I get it, I try to preserve an open mind."
"Oh. Well, that's an improvement over Mr. Norvallis, I must admit!" Miss Ocky turned her eyes back to the fire. "What you've told me about Bates has given me quite a—a shock, Mr. Creighton. I won't drag any more red-herrings around, but can't we please talk of something else?"
He cheerfully and promptly consented. They talked a while on every subject under the sun except the death of Simon Varr, and they were both a trifle disconcerted when a wild shrieking of brakes and a heavy step on the veranda announced the arrival of Herman Krech, who would tolerate no other topic until he left at eleven.
It was just short of midnight when Creighton, sound asleep, was roused by a discreet but persistent tapping on his door. He rolled out of bed, struck a match, opened the door and discovered Copley Varr, grinning broadly.
"I've got my father-in-law's blessing!" he announced.
"I congratulate you." The detective blinked. "Excuse me, but I was with the angels! Did you call me back just to tell me this?"
"No. I thought you ought to know that we were a pair of nuts this noon. Mr. Graham was holding pat hands in a poker game during the fire and robbery, and he was presiding at a lodge-meeting in Hambleton the night—the night before last!"
"With umpty-umph fellow-lodgers to prove it. Um. Touch 'em and they vanish!"
"What?"