“Women don’t murder, as a rule, anyway. You know yourself, the small proportion of feminine murderers.”
“That ought to make it easier.”
“Not at all. These weren’t professionals, who might be listed; they were women, two, most likely, who had a personal matter to settle with the Englishman, and—settled it.”
“I grant you all that, except the personal matter. I can’t help thinking the bun business is a factor, and though women did the murder, it may be they were interested in the sale of the buns.”
“Reasons?”
“Because Sir Herbert Binney was a man who jollied round with little chorus youngsters and such, and they couldn’t and wouldn’t kill anybody. Don’t look for the impossible, or so improbable as to amount to the same thing.”
“I agree.”
“Nothing has turned up to hint at Sir Herbert’s connection, even acquaintance, with any older women or indeed any woman of a different stamp, of his own station in life, or in society at all. No woman who could be mentioned by name has ever had to do with Sir Herbert since he came to New York,—that we know of.”
“There might be somebody though.”
“Of course, there might. If there is, we’ll find her. But we can’t hunt a needle in a haystack. If she materializes, we’ll spot her.”