She, on her part, told a similar story, had formed her plan, for it appeared that when the furor was raised after the murder was discovered she had found the hammer on her porch with fresh blood stains; knew it had been in Miller’s cottage, and had washed it hurriedly, not knowing in her excitement just what to do, her husband even then having been taken to the scene of the crime by the police.
In face of his confession and her own hammer found stained in such manner, she had actually believed that he had committed the crime.
The police automobile drove up and the Watsons were escorted to it.
For the twentieth time, her eyes still tear-filled, Mrs. Watson said: “What can we ever do to thank you, Mr. Lanagan?”
“Forgive me certain brutal conduct,” laughed that individual. “As I hope the Lord will forgive me,” he added sotto voce, “for misjudging you.”
As the automobile sped away to return a very happy couple to their home, Lanagan, hat doffed and in hand, bowed profoundly after the retreating machine, and remarked with veneration to the world at large:
“The tenth woman, gentlemen, the tenth woman.”
Then to Henley: “Inspector, I believe you said something about buying?”