The Sergeant shot a startled look towards Glass, standing motionless and disapproving by the door. A suspicion that the eccentric Neville Fletcher was of unsound mind had darted into his brain. "What might you mean by that, sir?"
"Only the clock on the landing," said Neville.
"A cuckoo-clock! Well, really, sir, for a moment I thought - And it struck the half-hour?"
"Yes, but it's quite often wrong."
"We'll go into that presently. Which way does your room face, sir?"
"North."
"It's at the back of the house, then? Would it be possible for you to hear anyone coming up the side path?"
"I don't know. I didn't hear anyone, but I wasn't trying to.
"Quite," said the Sergeant. "Well, I think that'll be all for the present, thank you, sir. Of course, you understand that you will not be able to leave this house for a day or two? Just a matter of routine, you know. We'll hope it won't be long before we get the whole thing cleared up."
"Yes, let's," agreed Neville. His gaze dwelt speculatively on a picture on the wall opposite the fireplace. "It wouldn't be robbery, would it?"