“It wasn’t exactly a threat,” Pollard returned, speaking slowly, and looked decidedly uncomfortable; “it was merely a—a statement.”
“A statement that you would like to—to see him dead?”
“Well, yes, practically that.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t like the man. I took a dislike to him the first time I saw him, and I never got over it.”
“But that’s not reason enough to kill a man.”
“I haven’t said I killed him. But I hold it is reason enough. I hold that an utter detestation of seeing a person around, a positive irritation at his mere presence, is a stronger motive for murder than the more obvious ones of jealousy or greed.”
“You weren’t jealous of Mr Gleason?”
Pollard started, the detective had scored that time.
But he replied, quietly. “Not jealous, no.”