“Yes, but you can't have it both ways,” interpolated Charles, evidently continuing an interrupted argument. “Old Drybeck was born and bred here, so why shouldn't the Chief Inspector listen to him as much as to you?”
“Oh, that's ridiculous!” she replied. “You can't possibly count him! And, anyway, that wasn't what I was going to say. No. The thing is, I've just been giving my angels a run on the common, Chief Inspector, and I met that dreadful old man, Biggleswade, and he told me all about what he thinks happened on Saturday. Well, of course, it's nonsense to suppose young Ditchling had anything to do with it, because anyone who knows the family could tell you at once that they're all above suspicion. I don't mind saying that my first thought was he was lying.”
“"Lied in every word,"' corrected Charles, grinning. “"That hoary cripple, with malicious eye"—I can't remember how it goes on, but it's exactly right! There's something about waylaying the traveller with his lies, too. "If at his counsel I should turn aside into that—something—tract"—No, I can't remember how it went on, but it's Biggleswade all right!”
“What on earth are you drivelling about?” asked Abby.
“I'm not drivelling, I'm quoting, Browning.”
“Oh! "Just for a handful of silver he left us,"' said Abby showing her erudition.
“Absolutely!” agreed Charles, his eyes dancing.
“I don't know anything about Browning,” said Mrs. Midgeholme impatiently, “but, as I say, I did think at first that Biggleswade was making the whole thing up. And then it came to me in a flash!”
She paused dramatically, and Hemingway, finding that she was looking in a challenging way at him, said, with an air of interest: “It did?”
“He was going by the Church clock!” said Mrs. Midgeholme triumphantly. “Summertime, you know! It's never changed so it's an hour wrong. So when he thought the time was 6.15, it was really an hour later!”