I dodged the oncoming lorry, which was like a charging bull elephant, as Hammersmith traffic engulfed us, and the sky over Hammersmith was serene. But one question I was determined to have answered.
And it stuck in my mind all through the hectic rush that followed. Over most of those events I pass quickly. We had wired ahead for my clothes to be taken to H.M.'s house in Brook Street, so that we should lose no time: Sandy Armitage, my best man, is a reliable sort, and I knew that all the packing arrangements I should have made would be attended to. Things, I admit, took on a somewhat dream-like quality; for a man is inclined to forget murders and the affairs of darkness on his wedding day; but that infernal question stuck in my mind.
I pass over the scene when three grimy, unshaven, unpresentable people deposited the bride on the steps of her own house in Mount Street, just as the triumphant clocks of the wedding day were chiming eleven. Evelyn's father had even come down the steps in such a state of apoplectic rage that no comment could be passed. I say that I pass over the scene, but I cannot help remarking that it is the first time I ever saw a major-general dancing on the pavement. Also, I pass over the scenes at H.M.'s house when we were getting ready. Stone had to have a morning coat, and the only thing that would fit him was one belonging to H.M.'s butler, who is short and stocky. I missed connections with Sandy, but he left a message that all was ready; that he was going on to the church; and that he would like to wring my neck.
Yet the car sped us out again, and down into an effulgent Whitehall. I knew now that we should reach the church before Evelyn.
"We're going to do it!" said Stone, with the tense expression of one waiting for an execution. He pointed to Big Ben as we swept past it. "One minute to the half-hour! We-'
"And before we do," I said, "there's one thing that'll stump you, H.M. There's one thing you can't explain."
"You want to bet?" said H.M., feeling at his collar. He hates formal clothes, and has often been known to say so."What is it?"
"Well, as an example of the cussedness of all human affairs. You said that all the small things in this case, like a kit of burglar's tools and a slip in a phone conversation and a counterfeit note — all those details-had their place in the narrative. But there's one that doesn't."
"What one?"
"A book of sermons," I said, "and a clergyman's outfit. The clergyman's outfit I was compelled to wear, and the book of sermons I was compelled to carry. Damn it, fate has designed this business so far; but if you can explain the presence of a book of sermons and a cler — "