“When you talk like that, Horace, I think I must be losing my flair. I ought to have spotted at the outset that it was much too simple.”
“But you can't go against the facts, sir,” argued the Inspector. “The man was shot in his own garden, by someone lying up beside these bushes, at about 7.15 or 7.20, according to Miss Warrenby's evidence. You can doubt that, but you can't doubt the evidence of the cartridge-case Carsethorn's men found under the bushes. The difficulty is that the murder happened to be committed just when half a dozen people who all of them had reasons for wanting Warrenby out of the way were scattered round the locality, in a manner of speaking, and couldn't produce alibis.”
Hemingway had turned his head, and was looking at him, an alert expression on his face. “Go on!” he said, as the Inspector paused. “You're being very helpful!”
Harbottle almost blushed. “Well, I'm glad, Chief! It isn't often you think I'm right!”
“You aren't right. You're wrong all along the line, but you're clarifying my mind,” said Hemingway. “As soon as you said that the murder happened to be committed while a whole lot of Warrenby's ill-wishers were sculling about at large, it came to me that there wasn't any "happen" about it. That's the way it was planned. Go on talking! Very likely you'll put another idea into my head.”
The Inspector said, with some asperity: “All right, sir, I will! I may be wrong all along the line, but it strikes me that there's a hole to be picked in what you've just said. It can't have been planned. Not with any certainty. The murderer couldn't have known Warrenby would be in the garden at that exact time; that was just luck. He must have been prepared to go into the house, or at any rate into the garden, where he could have got a shot through the study-window, and when you consider how near he came to being seen by Miss Warrenby, as things turned out, you'll surely agree that there wasn't much planning about it. If he'd been forced to enter the garden, Miss Warrenby would have seen the whole thing. As I see it, he's got more luck than craft.”
“Don't stop! It's getting clearer every minute!”
“Well, do you agree with me so far?” demanded Harbottle.
“Never mind about that! You can take it I don't, unless I hold up my hand.”
“I see no sense in going on, if you don't agree with anything I say, sir.”