"And Dr. Wynne tells us-"
"I tell you this," snapped the doctor, and 'tapped Masters on the shoulder. "Allowing for everything, including temperature, I definitely put the time of that woman's death as between three o'clock and three-thirty A.M. That's final. You say the snow stopped at two o'clock. Well, that's your business. What I say is that if the snow stopped at two o'clock, then that woman didn't die until at least an hour afterwards." He leered round. "I don't envy you your job, my lads."
Inspector Potter came to life. "But, sir," he shouted, "it's not possible! Not sense! Look here; there's two sets of tracks going into that house," he continued with heavy impressiveness, and held up two fingers. "Mr. Bohun tells us they were made by himself and this gentleman. Very well. There's two sets coming out, made by the same people. And that's all. Each of the four sets of prints is about equally fresh, so far as we can judge. and I've done some poac-urrr some trapping, I meantersay, in my younger days. They were made this morning, they were made about the time Mr. Bohun says] And thassalleris." He swept his arm about, small pencil in massive fist. Then he brought the fist down on the table. "A hundred straight feet of unmarked snow on every side of the 'ouse. Not a tree, not a shrub. And sixty feet of it thin ice on every side. Not possible, not sense, and may I never go to chapel again if it is!"
The inspector was breathing heavily through his nostrils. But so was Masters, who had been trying in vain to stop a conversational steam-roller. Masters did more than merely glare. His attitude towards Inspector Potter as his family relation made him deplorably forgetful of his dignity.
"Now, then]" he declared. "Now, then, I'll tell you what it is, Charley Potter. You keep your ruddy head shut when you're told, or I'll report to the Chief Constable of this county your means of carrying on a case. Tell a witness what to say; eh? Makes no difference if we know it's truth. Eh? Oh, Lord! You in the CID., my lad? I don't think."
Inspector Potter closed one eye in a highly sinister fashion.
"Urr?" he inquired with dignity. "And 'oo may be in charge of this case, I should like to know? — You that was going to play Santy Claus! Urr! All right. Play Santy Claus. Here. Now. I was stating well-known facts. And I'll tell you more. We've got, a witness, Bill Locker that I've known all my life and is honest and trustworthy and 'as spotted the Derby winner for the last three years which is more than you can do: Bill Locker saw Mr. Bohun go in. Eh? And there was nobody in there hidden, which we proved. Now then!" He flung down his pencil on the table like a gauntlet. "Until you can play Santy Claus and explain all that, sir, I'll ask you respectfully-.'
"Sic 'em, my lads," said the little doctor, with an air of refreshed interest. "I think I'll stop on a bit. Yes. Nothing adds zest to a criminal case like a free-for-all fight among the police at the outset. But is there anything else you want to know from me?"
With an effort Masters regained his imperturbability.
"Ah, ah," he said. "Forgot myself, inspector. Just so. You're in charge, for the moment, and you're quite right and within your duties." He folded his arms. "I should suggest, however, that before the doctor goes you make some inquiry about the weapon."