"You like the clinging-vine," said Ruth, "who undoubtedly would manage your house so inefficiently, Martin dear, that you'd get furious and run it yourself." Ruth hesitated, and tears came into her eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she said, "I must see poor Stan gets safely upstairs."
And, her green dress flashing, she ran out of the room.
During these remarks, which he had not heard. Chief Inspector Humphrey Masters was for once off his official dignity. He leaned back in his chair, his boiled blue eye contemplating a comer of the ceiling. On his face was a trace of reluctant admiration.
"Now if I might ask you, Mr. Drake," he mused, after ruminating for a while, "what did you make of that little "statement?"'
"With Stannard, you mean?"
"Clever!" said Masters, shaking his head. "Oh, ah! Just as wide as they make 'em; and I've met a few in my time. Did you notice he never once mentioned the alibi?"
"What alibi?"
"Come, now! You found that dagger at close on midnight Even allow a mix-up with watches: 't isn't much one way or the other. Dr. Laurier testified (and testifies) the blood was fresh within half an hour. Say half-past eleven or a bit later. The police surgeon says Enid Puckston might certainly have been killed round about half-past, though he's like all doctors about allowing much leeway."
"Half-past eleven! But that means—!"
"Now, was she killed with that dagger?" Masters mused.