"No, he's difficult," agreed Hemingway, scratching his chin. "You never know where you are with neurotics. I'm bound to say, though I don't fancy him much."
"He has more motive than any other."
"I'm not so sure of that. It'll depend on what Cathercott finds in that flat. Yes, come in!"
Inspector Cathercott himself walked into the room, heavily wrapped in a hairy overcoat, and with a muffler wound round the lower part of his face. He pulled this away from his mouth, and said, setting a neat package down on the desk: "You win, Chief! Take a look at that! Two of 'em!"
"Snow?" Hemingway said. "Good man! Where did you find it?"
"Several of the books in that glass-fronted case were hollow dummies. I might have got on to 'em quicker if it hadn't been for that safe! Clever operator, this Seaton-Carew. I'm sorry he's dead: I'd liked to have had him here for half an hour! But," said Cathercott, looking like a terrier on the scent of a rat, "I think this may have given me a line on the little gang we've been after for the past four months!"
"Is that going to help me?" demanded Hemingway.
Cathercott glanced indifferently down at him. "Help you? Oh, this murder of yours! No, sir, I shouldn't think so. With any luck this little lot may lead us to the boys who are bringing the stuff into the country. I'll be making a report on this find to Superintendent Heathcote first thing in the morning." He rubbed his hands together. "He'll be interested - very much interested!"
"I'm sure he will," said Hemingway. "You can go home to bed, and put some oil of cloves in that tooth of yours, George! You've done very nicely, and you don't want to go writing reports at this hour of night!"
"Well, if you don't want me any more, I'll be off," Cathercott said, picking up his treasured package. "Unless I miss my bet, it's snow all right. Enough here to keep your friend at the Ritz for months! Good-night, sir! "Night, Sandy!"