"Yes," said Sally. "What's it like?"
"Rather foul. Are you busy this week, or can you spare the time to get married?"
"Oh, I should think so, but it'll mean a special licence, and you can't touch Ernie's money till you've got probate."
"Can't I? I shall have to borrow some, then."
"You'd better leave it to me," said Sally, her natural competence asserting itself. "You'd come back with a dog-licence, or something. By the way, are you certain you won't be arrested for these tiresome murders?"
"Oh yes, because Ernie's hat doesn't fit!" he replied.
"I suppose that's a good reason?"
"Yes, even the Sergeant thought so," he said happily.
The Sergeant did think so, but being unwilling to let his last suspect go, he kept his conviction to himself. On his way downstairs from Ernest Fletcher's dressingroom, he encountered Miss Fletcher, who looked surprised to see him, but accepted quite placidly his explanation that Neville had invited him. She said vaguely: "Dear boy! So thoughtless! But men very often are, aren't they? I hope you don't think he had anything to do with this dreadful tragedy, because I'm sure he would never do anything really wicked. One always knows, doesn't one?"
The Sergeant made a non-committal sound.