"You - you ought to have been in business yourself, Mr. Hannasyde," said Budd unhappily. "It's wonderful the way you spotted it!"
"And on the night he was murdered you had gone down to spin some kind of a yarn to Mr. Fletcher to account for your being unable to deliver the correct number of shares?"
Budd nodded. "That's the way it was. A bit of bad luck, Mr. Hannasyde. I don't deny I acted foolishly, but -'
"I take it Mr. Fletcher was very angry?"
"He was angry. I didn't blame him. I saw his point. But he couldn't do anything, not without coming out into the open. He wouldn't do that. See? He couldn't afford to have it known he had been buying Huxton Industries under cover. You haven't got anything on me, Mr. Hannasyde. You'll only regret it if you do anything impulsive. Take my word for it!"
He looked anxiously at Hannasyde as he spoke, beads of sweat standing on his brow. When he found that he was not, apparently, to be arrested, he heaved a gusty sigh of relief, and wiped his face with a large silk handkerchief.
Hannasyde went away to promote inquiries into the state of Neville Fletcher's finances.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Hemingway, arriving betimes in Marley, found PC Glass awaiting him with his customary air of gloomy disapproval. The Sergeant was in a cheerful frame of mind, and took instant exception to his subordinate's joyless mood. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Colic, or something?"
"Nothing is the matter with me, Sergeant," replied Glass. "I enjoy perfect health."
"Well, if that's the way you look when you're enjoying yourself I hope I never see you when you're feeling a bit blue," said the Sergeant. "Do you ever smile? I won't say laugh, mind you! Just smile!"