“Of course I mean it! You don't think I want it, do you?”
“I must say it didn't seem likely to me it was the sort of compact Miss Warrenby would have,” admitted the Sergeant.
“It isn't the sort any young lady in her walk of life would have. I never saw such a nasty, cheap job!”
“No. Of course, there is the initial. But you know best, sir!” he added hastily.
“You may take it from me that I do! How many girls in Bellingham have got names beginning with M, do you suppose?” That compact wasn't by those gorse-bushes when Carsethorn and his chaps searched the ground, and it wasn't there when I went out to Fox House. But I'll tell you what was there then, or very shortly afterwards, and that was sightseers, very likely come out from this place to look at the scene of the crime. There was a couple hovering back-stage while I was there: I saw them. By Sunday evening it was probably all over the town there'd been a murder, and a lot of us had come down from Headquarters to take over. Miss Warrenby's probably had them picnicking on the front lawn, poor girl. What's more, she doesn't use powder: I've seen her! And finally, if she did, where do girls keep their compacts? In their handbags! All I can say is, if you think she powdered her nose before shooting her uncle you ought to go and get yourself certified!”
“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant, grinning broadly.
“And if that's Mr. Drybeck's handkerchief, give it back to him! Hallo, here's Carsethorn. Well?”
“I've brought in the three you wanted, sir.”
“Good man! Any difficulty?”
“Not with Mr. Ainstable, sir, nor yet at The Cedars. Mr. Ainstable quite saw why we wanted his rifle, and made no objection at all. It was in his estate room. That's not part of Old Place: just a small kind of summerhouse, which was converted, so as Mr. Eckford, the Squire's agent, wouldn't have to go through the house every time he went there. I had a look at it, the Squire taking me to it, and I wouldn't like to say the rifle couldn't have been lifted, and put back later, because I think—if you knew when the estate room was likely to be empty—it might have been. Young Mr. Haswell left his rifle wrapped up in a bit of sacking, and told Mrs. Haswell to give it to us if we called asking for it. Now, that rifle was found by him in the cupboard in the cloakroom, sir, and could easily have been taken by anyone at that tennis-party—if they could have hidden it, which I don't think.”