"If you'd talk plain English, we'd get on better," remarked the Sergeant. "No, it isn't known to me, but I'm hoping it soon will be. Meanwhile, we've got to see what we can find out about friend North." He saw the question in Glass's eyes, and added: "Oh, you don't know about that little problem play, do you? According to the Chief, Mrs. North thinks North was the man she saw in the garden. So what must she do but alter her evidence to suit this new development? Lying lips about hits her off."
"Why should she think it?"
"Because it turns out that he was sculling around without an alibi at the time. The Chief's working on him now. Then there's Budd. He's been up to no good, or I'm a Dutchman."
They had by this time reached Greystones. As they turned in at the front gate, Glass suddenly said: "The day cometh that shall burn them as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly shall be stubble!"
"You may be right, but it won't be in your time, my lad, so don't you think it!" replied the Sergeant tartly. "Now you can go and make yourself useful. The butler's a friend of yours, isn't he?"
"I know him. I do not call him a friend, for I have few friends."
"You surprise me!" said the Sergeant. "Still, if you're acquainted with him, that ought to be good enough. You go and have a chat with him -just a nice, casual chat."
"An idle soul shall suffer hunger," said Glass austerely.
"Not when it's idling with a butler. Or thirst either, if it comes to that," retorted the Sergeant.
"Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs, like a sharp razor working deceitfully," Glass told him. "Simmons is an honest man, in the way of Light."