"It might be very interesting to me," interposed the Sergeant.
"You're wrong," Neville said. "It looks to you as though someone climbed over the wall, using the espalier as a foothold, doesn't it?"
"Yes," replied the Sergeant. "It looks remarkably like that to me."
"You're jolly clever," said Neville, "because that's exactly what did happen."
"It did, did it?" The Sergeant eyed him with acute suspicion. "Are you trying to get funny with me, sir?"
"No, I wouldn't dare. You mightn't think it, but I'm frightened of you. Don't be misled by my carefree manner: it's a mask assumed to hide my inward perturbation."
"That I might believe," said the Sergeant grimly. "But I'd like to hear a little more about this branch. Who climbed over the wall?"
"Oh, I did!" replied Neville, with his seraphic smile. "When?"
"The night my uncle was murdered." He observed the Sergeant's expression, and said: "I can see you think there's a catch coming, and, of course, if your mind is running on the murder, there is. I climbed over the wall when everyone, including the policeman parked in the hall, thought I'd gone to bed. Oh, and I climbed out of my bedroom window as well. I'll show you."
"Why?" demanded the Sergeant.