She'll look after her. Much better if I call on her tomorrow. Leave a message of sympathy, even if she doesn't feel up to seeing me."
"Much better," agreed Hemingway, and took his leave of them both.
When he reached Scotland Yard, he found that Inspector Grant had not yet arrived there. He went up to his room and sent down a message to have certain exhibits brought to him. While he was waiting for them, the buzzer sounded on his desk, and he lifted one of his telephones. The voice of his friend and superior officer, Superintendent Hinckley, assailed his ears.
"Chief Inspector Hemingway?"
"Sir?" said Hemingway.
The voice altered. "Stanley? How's it going?"
"Fine!" said Hemingway. "I've only got two murders on my hands so far. Of course, it's early days yet. I dare say there'll be some more by tomorrow. Who's my successor?"
"Not named. Keep at it! Between you and me and the gatepost, a Certain Person is still backing you. Thought you might like to know. Said he'd bank on you bringing home the bacon, and the worse the mess got the less he wanted to give it to anyone else. That's all!"
"Thanks, Bob! You're a trump!" said Hemingway flushing slightly.
A decisive click informed him that Superintendent Hinckley had cut short his gratitude. He grinned, and hung up the receiver. When Inspector Grant entered the room some twenty minutes later, he found him frowning at two looped lengths of picture-wire, lying side by side on his desk. He glanced up as the Inspector came in, and a certain intent look in his eyes caused that officer to exclaim: "Och, you have discovered something! Ciod e?"