Hannasyde smiled. "There might be. It's just possible that North had nothing to do with the murder, but suspects that his wife had."
The Sergeant stared at him. "What, and deliberately chucked his own alibi - if any - overboard, so as to be all set to leap in and take the rap for his wife? Go on, Super! You don't believe that!"
"I don't know. He might. Rather that type of man."
"Regular film star, he sounds to me," said the Sergeant, revolted. "Red blood, and hair on his chest, too, I should think." He turned his head, as the door opened, and encountered the solemn stare of PC Glass. "Oh, so you're back, are you? Well, if you're working on this case, I suppose you'd better come in. I daresay I'll be able to think up a job for you."
Hannasyde nodded. "Yes, come in, Glass. I want you to cast your mind back to the night of the murder. When you were walking along Vale Avenue, on your beat, do you remember seeing anyone, beyond the man who came out of the side gate of Greystones? Anyone who might, at about 10.00 p.m., have been passing the front entrance to Greystones?"
Glass thought deeply for a moment, and then pronounced: "No, I remember no one. Why am I asked this question?"
"Because I have reason to doubt the truth of Mrs. North's statement, that she left Greystones by the front door, at a minute after 10.00. What I want is a possible passer-by, who may or may not have seen her."
"If that is so, the matter is simple," said Glass. "There is a pillar-box at the corner of Vale Avenue and Glynne Road, where she dwells, which is cleared at 10.00 p.m. each night. I do not doubt that the postman saw her, if she was indeed upon her way home at that hour."
"Nice work, Ichabod!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "You'll end up in the CID yet."
A cold eye was turned upon him. "A man that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his feet," said Glass, adding, since the Sergeant seemed unimpressed: "Even the eyes of his child shall fail."