"Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom!" said Glass scornfully.
"Well, for all you know he was destitute of wisdom," replied the Sergeant. "You go and get your dinner, and report here when you've had it."
He went up the steps, and into the building. It was not until he had passed out of Glass's sight that it occurred to him that the constable's last remark might not have been directed at the unknown murderer. A wrathful exclamation rose to his lips; he half turned, as though to go after Glass; but thought better of it. Encountering the Station Sergeant's eye, he said: "Somebody here must have had a grudge against me when they saddled me with that pain in the neck."
"Glass?" inquired Sergeant Cross sympathetically. "Chronic, isn't he? Mind you, he isn't usually as bad as he's been over this case. Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it? His sort has to have a bit of sin in front of them to get properly wound up, as you might say. Do you want him taken off?"
"Oh no!" said the Sergeant, with bitter irony. "I like being told-off by constables. Makes a nice change."
"We'll take him off the job," offered Cross. "He's not used to murder-cases, that's what it is. It's gone to his head."
The Sergeant relented. "No, I'll put up with him. At least he's a conscientious chap, and apart from this nasty habit he's got of reciting Scripture I haven't anything against him. I daresay he's got a fixation, poor fellow."
An hour later, mellowed by food, he was propounding this theory to Superintendent Hannasyde, who arrived at the police station just as his subordinate came back from a leisurely dinner.
"You never know," he said. "We shall quite likely find that he had some shocking experience when he was a child, which would account for it."
"As I have no intention of wasting my time - or letting you waste yours - in probing into Glass's past, I should think there is nothing more unlikely," replied Hannasyde somewhat shortly.