"No motive," said Masters. "At least, none we've heard." He winked at her apologetically. "And the same thing for the practical side: she couldn't have changed the daggers."
Masters shut up his notebook and shook it in the air.
"Now, sir! That's the lot. Unless you want to drag in Daisy Fenton, the maid, or Mrs. Propper, the cook-"
"I say, Masters." Again H.M. ruffled his fingers across his forehead. "This cook, now. You got a statement from the maid. Could the cook add anything: to it?"
"Mrs. Propper? No. She always goes to bed at nine sharp on the top floor of the house. She didn't even hear the rumpus last night.
"But as I say, that's the lot. That's a list of both motive and opportunity. Will you just tell me where in lum's name you can find either a motive or an opportunity?"
Courtney, who was facing Major Adams's house, saw khaki and gilt buttons swing round the side of it. Frank Sharpless, the declining sun picking out the expression of his eyes even at that distance, hurried across towards them.
There was, Courtney remembered, a grassy elm-shaded lane or alley which ran at the back of all these houses parallel with the street in front. Sharpless had evidently taken a short cut from the Fanes' house. Courtney thought with uneasiness that it was damned indiscreet of him to go there today. Gossip would be wagging a long enough tongue already.
But this idea was swept away as Sharpless approached.
"Sir Henry," he began without preliminary, "you said last night you remembered me. Anyway, you know my father. Colonel Sharpless?"