"True," agreed Hannasyde. "Still, there are points."
"That's right, Superintendent," nodded Inspector True. "That's what I said myself. What about them footprints? They weren't made by the old lady: she doesn't wear that kind of shoe."
"Housemaid, saying good-night to her young man," said the experienced Hemingway.
"Hardly," said Hannasyde. "She wouldn't choose a bush just outside her master's study."
"No, nor there wasn't anything like that going on," said the Inspector. "The cook is a very respectable woman, married to Simmons, the butler, and the housemaid is her own niece, and this Mrs. Simmons swears to it both she and the kitchen-maid never stirred outside the house the whole evening."
"It's my belief those footprints'll be found to be highly irrelevant," said Hemingway obstinately. "All we want is this chap your man - what's-his-name? - Glass saw making off. Nothing to it."
Hannasyde cocked an eyebrow at him. "Liverish, Skipper?"
"I don't like the set-up. Ordinary, that's what it is. And I don't like the smashed skull. Just doesn't appeal to me. Give me something a bit recherche, and I'm right on to it. "
Hannasyde smiled a little. "I repeat, there are points. The murdered man seems to have been universally liked. No motive for killing him even hinted at."
"You wait till we've done half-an-hour's work on the case," said Hemingway. "I wouldn't mind betting we'll find scores of people all stiff with motives."