“It'll be better if you do it,” exclaimed Hemingway. “You know the party concerned, and you've already questioned him once. You can say you forgot to make a note of what he said, or any other lie you fancy: we don't want him to spread it all over the village that you've been asking searching questions about Gavin Plenmeller.”
“You can trust me, sir!” the Sergeant assured him. “But who is it?”
“I don't think you ever told me his name. But I seem to remember that when you were describing the dramatis personae to me, in this very room, when I first came down here, you spoke of some old boy who's got a cottage opposite the entrance to Wood Lane.”
“That's right, sir: George Rugby.”
“Rugby! Then you did mention the name, because that's brought it back to me. My memory's not as good as it used to be,” said Hemingway, shaking his head over this lapse.
“Too bad, sir!” said the Sergeant, once more on the broad grin. “Still, it's good enough to be going on with! What do you want me to find out from Rugby?”
“Didn't you tell me he'd seen Mrs. Cliburn and Plenmeller coming away from The Cedars on Saturday evening? You were trying to find out if either of them did anything suspicious, but neither of them did, and neither of them was carrying anything that might have contained a rifle, which were the two points we happened to be concentrating at the time. The really important point escaped you. Now, don't take on about it! It escaped me too—which was probably because you were talking so much I never got time to think,” he added, as the Sergeant's face brightened again. “What I want to know now is, which came down the lane first? Mrs. Cliburn, or Mr. Plenmeller?”
“My Gawd!” exclaimed the Sergeant involuntarily. He cast a deprecating look at the Chief Constable, and said: “Beg your pardon, sir! But he's quite right: I did miss that, and I oughtn't to have. By the time I got round to making enquiries in the village, I'd interviewed so many people—still, it's no excuse! I didn't suspect anyone in particular, and what with old Rugby being one of those who take half an hour to tell you a simple story, and me taking it for granted he'd seen Mr. Plenmeller before he saw Mrs. Cliburn, I properly slipped up.” He glanced at his watch. “I'd like to go out to Thornden right now, sir, if you've no objection. The police-station is only two doors off Rugby's cottage, so I can pretend I've got business with Hobkirk; and if Rugby's sitting outside, which he probably will be on an evening like this, it'll be natural enough for me to stop and pass the time of day with him—supposing anyone should happen to be watching what I'm up to.”
“All right,” said the Colonel. “But you'll have to be careful not to let Rugby smell a rat, Carsethorn!”
“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant. “I shall tell him the Chief Inspector properly tore me off the strip for not giving him a written report of what he said.”