Randall finished what was left of his drink. “It's in the post, of course, and will reach you at Scotland Yard tomorrow morning.”
Hannasyde smiled reluctantly. “You think of everything, don't you?”
“Well, not quite,” said Randall modestly.
Hannasyde set down his glass, and rose. “I think I'll go and sleep on it,” he said. “You don't seem to have left me much else to do—except clear up the mess.”
“You wrong me, Superintendent: there's very little mess. Much less than you would have made.”
“Yes,” admitted Hannasyde. “From your point of view that's true enough. I take it your name doesn't figure in Rumbold's statement?”
“Oh no!” said Randall with a sleepy smile. “I don't come into the case at all, my dear Superintendent.”