"Yes, sir," agreed Inspector Colwall, swallowing the insult.
"Christmas Eve, too!" said the Chief Constable, in an exasperated tone. "To my mind, it's a case for Scotland Yard."
"Perhaps you're right, sir," responded the Inspector, thinking of the complexities of the case, the lack of evidence, and the difficulties of dealing with the kind of witness he had found at Lexham Manor.
"And that being so," said the Chief Constable, "I'll get on to London right away."
The Inspector was in complete agreement over this. If Scotland Yard was to take over the case, he for one did not want to be told that the scent had been allowed to grow cold, and that the Yard should have been called in days earlier. That was the kind of thing that happened when the local police tried to solve their cases, and failed; and it didn't do a man any good to be made to look like a fool who'd been trying to make things difficult for Scotland Yard.
So the Chief Constable put through a call to London, and was connected in due course with a calm person who said he was Detective-Superintendent Hannasyde. The Chief Constable gave him the particulars of the case, and after asking several questions Superintendent Hannasyde said that he would send a good man down to assist him next morning.
That was polite of the Superintendent, but when his words were repeated to Inspector Colwall, the Inspector only said, Yes, in a dispirited tone. The good man from Scotland Yard would automatically take charge of the case, and very likely tick everyone off into the bargain, he thought, uneasily aware of his own shortcomings as a detective. He went off duty in a frame of mind almost as gloomy as anyone's at Lexham Manor, and very nearly as resentful as that of the good man from Scotland Yard, who, far from feeling any elation at being given a promising case to handle, told his subordinate that it was just his luck to be sent into the wilds of Hampshire on Christmas Day.
Sergeant Ware, an earnest young man, ventured to say that the case sounded as though it might be interesting.
"Interesting!" said Inspector Hemingway. "It sounds to me like a mess. I don't like the lay-out, I don't like the locality, and if I don't find a whole crowd of suspects, all telling a lot of silly lies for no reason at all, my instinct's wrong, and that's all there is to it."
"Well, perhaps it is, this time," suggested Ware.