"No. If I'd been a doctor — perhaps. But if Costello or Hammel had suggested it, he'd have wanted confirmation. And did he look like a man who'd just been told that he might have cancer?"
"It's your murder," said Mr. Teal, with the beginnings of a drowsy tolerance that was transparently rooted in sheer resignation. "I'll let you solve it."
"There were lots of pieces missing at first," said the Saint. "I only had Enstone's character and weaknesses. And then it came out — Hammel was a psychologist. That was good, because I'm a bit of a psychologist myself, and his mind would work something like mine. And then Costello could invent mechanical gadgets and make them himself. He shouldn't have fetched out that lighter, Claud — it gave me another of the missing pieces. And then there was the box."
"Which box?"
"The cardboard box — on his table, with the brown paper. You know Fowler said that he thought either Hammel or Costello left it. Have you got it here?"
"I expect it's somewhere in the building."
"Could we have it up?"
With the gesture of a blase hangman reaching for the noose, Teal took hold of the telephone on his desk.
"You can have the gun, too, if you like," he said.
"Thanks," said the Saint. "I wanted the gun."