"And is also (eh?) the young lady who was present at that business last night? Glad to hear it, miss! You're the only person concerned I haven't had a word with yet."
H.M. blinked.
"So? That's quick work, ain't it, Masters?"
"Four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. If you don't mind my pointing it out."
"Now, now. Less of the heavy copper stuff, son. What have you been up to?"
Masters inhaled a mighty breath.
"I've talked to Agnew, and read through his notes. I've had a word with Mrs. Fane, Captain Sharpless, Mr. Hubert Fane, Dr. Rich, the maid, and the cook. I've been carefully over that sitting room where the murder was done." "And?"
"You," suggested Masters pointedly, "tell me."
H.M. cast down the putter. He went to the porch and returned carrying two beach-chairs. These, after a struggle vaguely suggesting Laocoon, in which the chairs folded into shapes even more incomprehensible than is their usual custom, he managed to set straight for Masters and himself.
"It's like this," the chief inspector continued, — putting his hat down on the grass. "If only these people wouldn't be so ruddy pat with their stories! If only they wouldn't all swear they saw each other all the time! If only—" He stopped, remembering that he was speaking in front of one of them.