"I agree. Truth is always more impossible than fiction."
"An epigram doesn't meet the case," snapped Cannington.
"It sums it up, my boy. Who could ever invent such a situation--I speak as a playwright, you understand. I could never have imagined the tragedy of an old woman killed by a hat-pin for the sake of her glass eye, much less the implicating of an inoffensive stranger, and the theft of his motor by the murderess."
"You are sure she is guilty?"
"Certainly! Who but a woman would use a hat-pin to slay, and who but a woman would have a hat-pin to use?"
"But why should she kill the old woman?"
"That question can only be answered when we know more about the lady in the white cloak, who bolted with my car."
"Who is she?"
"Helen of Troy, for all I know. What silly questions you ask, Cannington."
"I'm not Sherlock Holmes," he retorted, "and I did come on straight to help you through this business."