"Oh, I will, will I? Well, isn't that a bit of luck for me? Of course it would have to be him, wouldn't it? He'll tell me all about it, I expect, and give me a few hints and tips as well, if I speak nicely to him! Hold on, while I shut this damned window, Bob!" He laid down the receiver, pushed the sash up, shrugged himself into a dressinggown, and sat down again on the edge of the bed. "All right: go ahead! Who's the murdered chap?"
"Man called Seaton-Carew."
"Anything known about him?"
"Nothing known about any of them."
The Chief Inspector groaned. "Any line on it at all?"
"Might be, might not. Doesn't sound like a cinch, from the first report. There were forty-nine people in the house at the time -"
"What?"
"Fifty-five, counting the servants," said the Superintendent.
"And I suppose any one of them could have bumped this chap off! You know, Bob, I believe I've got an attack of 'flu coming on, or maybe it's scarlet fever!"
The Superintendent laughed. "That's all right: it isn't as bad as that! Pershore has established that most of them couldn't have had anything to do with it. Not counting the servants, there seem to be seven people who might have had the opportunity."