“Several ways,” said Giles, nodding to the Sergeant. “We discussed them all ad nauseam last night. But, speaking for myself, I don't like the idea of an accomplice.”
“No, sir,” said the Sergeant instantly. “Not in a murder case. That's what I say. But that isn't to say it couldn't have been done without, not by a long chalk.”
Giles was looking at Hannasyde. “You don't much fancy Mesurier, do you?” he said.
“I don't know that I fancy anybody much,” answered Hannasyde. “One thing seems fairly certain, though. Whoever murdered Arnold Vereker was a very cool, clever customer.”
“I rather think that rules out Mesurier then,” said Giles. “He's neither cool nor clever.”
“You can't go by how he acts now, sir,” said the Sergeant. “Some of the wiliest of 'em lead you up the orchard by making out they're so silly they couldn't tread on a black beetle without carrying bits of it all over the house for hours after. He was cute enough, the way he cooked the Company accounts.”
Giles took out his cigarette-case and opened it. “All carefully planned,” he said. “Not done in the heat of the moment.”
The Superintendent nodded, but Sergeant Hemingway pursed up his lips. “It looks like it was coldblooded,” he said, “but you can go astray on that line of reasoning. Some people lose their heads when they're all worked up, but there's others as don't. Seem to get needle-sharp. Same effect as taking a pinch of cocaine - not that I've ever done so, but that's the effect they say it has. Comes in psychology - which the Superintendent here doesn't hold with.”
Hannasyde smiled, but declined the gambit. His shrewd grey eyes were on Giles's face. “What have you got up your sleeve, Mr Carrington? Are you going to spring something new on us?”
“Oh, no!” said Giles. “But I became prophetic yesterday, and the fit hasn't passed yet. Something is going to turn up.”