Glass looked sternly down at him. "I believe him to have been wholly given up to vain show, double of heart, a fornicator, a -"
"Here, that'll do!" said the Sergeant, startled. "We're none of us saints. I understand the late Ernest was pretty well liked?"
"It is true. It is said that he was a man of pleasing manners, filled with loving kindness. But the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
"Yes, that's all very well, but where do you get that fornication idea? From those footprints, eh?"
"No. Joseph Simmons, who is in the way of light, though a foolish man, knew some of the secrets of his master's life."
"He did, did he? We'll see!" said the Sergeant briskly, and turned towards the house.
He entered it through the study window, and found his superior there, with Ernest Fletcher's solicitor, and Neville Fletcher, who was lounging bonelessly in an armchair, the inevitable cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.
"Then, if that is all, Superintendent," the solicitor was saying, "I will take my leave. Should you require my further services, there is my card."
"Thank you," said Hannasyde.
The solicitor picked up Ernest Fletcher's Will, and replaced it in his brief-case. He glanced rather severely over the top of his pince-nez at Neville, and said: "You are a very fortunate young man, Neville. I hope you will prove yourself worthy of the benefits your poor uncle has conferred on you."