H.M. faced front, his feet apart and his bald head glistening. Then he turned round. His mouth was open.
"What a cuckoo I've been!" he breathed in a hollow voice. "Oh, my eye! What a thundering dunce!"
Now Masters had heard this tone before. And Masters, even with his mind made up, started a little. Both he and Ricky joined H.M. at the edge.
"Do you mean—?"
"No, no, dammit! I'm not quite on to something yet But there were two pieces in the evidence I was forgetting. Was there anything white on the roof?"
Masters and Ricky exchanged glances. "No," the latter said, "unless—"
"Unless, as before," growled Masters, "somebody carried it up"
"Y’see, I was forgetting that very bright-glowin' and lurid red sky everybody commented on. It might make something white seem pink, if only…"
Again H.M. paused.
"Also," he plodded on doggedly, "I had the whole conception and direction maybe a bit scrambled. I'll admit fully and with a spit that it's still an impossible crime. But look across at the pub there!"