“Anything gone wrong?” asked the Inspector anxiously.
“No, but I'm getting to be annoyed with myself. I don't deny that that letter strengthens my case a lot, but the one thing I want I'm damned if I know where to look for!”
“The gun,” said Harbottle. “I've been wondering about that all the way down from town. I don't see that we've a hope of finding it, but I think you've got enough on Plenmeller to justify you making an arrest. What did the doctor say about the stains on the carpet?”
“Oh, they're blood all right! Same group as Warrenby's, too. The doctor got hold of the collar he was wearing when he was shot: that was bloodstained, of course. And I took those papers round to Coupland last night, and he was quite sure two letters at least were missing. That's all right, as far as it goes, but neither the bloodstains nor the missing letters incriminates Plenmeller. I rather hoped I might be able to establish that he came down Wood Lane after the Vicar's wife did. Do you remember Carsethorn saying that one of the villagers had seen them both coming away from The Cedars on Saturday? Well, I sent Carsethorn out to Thornden after you left yesterday, to talk to this character.”
“No good?”
“I wouldn't go so far as to say that exactly. I should say, from what Carsethorn told me about a highly exasperating interview, that Plenmeller did come into the High Street later than Mrs. Cliburn, but as the old man contradicted himself three times, not to mention remembering what happened, because of its having been at that exact moment that something else happened, only, when he came to think it over, that wasn't on Saturday, but on Thursday—well, you know the sort of thing!—he isn't the kind of witness anyone would want to call.”
“We'll do without him, then,” said the Inspector, in a heartening tone. “Hallo! Market-day?”
“Yes. I ran into Miss Dearham and young Haswell on my way to the station—very far gone, both of them!—and I gather the better part of Thornden's in the town. We'll skirt round the side, or I may be made to buy a goats'-milk cheese.”
The Inspector had no idea why his dud should be made to buy cheese of any kind, but he forbore to enquire into the matter, suspecting him of ill-timed levity. Together they circumvented the market-place, and began to make their way down South Street.
“What does the Colonel feel about it?” asked Harbottle.