"I'm not suggesting anything, sir; I'm only trying to get at the truth."
Joseph wrung his hands in one of his agitated gestures. "Ah, you think me a foolish old fellow, but I can't but see what you suspect! I know that things do look black against my nephew, but I for one am convinced that the murder wasn't committed by anyone under this roof!"
"How's that, sir? What reason have you to think that?" asked the Inspector quickly.
"Sometimes," answered Joseph, "intuition proves to be sounder than reason, Inspector!"
"I'll have to take your word for that, sir," replied the disillusioned Inspector. "I haven't found it so myself. Of course, that's not to say I won't."
"Try to keep an open mind!" Joseph begged.
"I'm paid to do that, sir," said Hemingway, somewhat acidly. "And now, if you don't mind, I'll finish what I have to do here with Mr. Blyth."
This was too pointed to be ignored. Joseph went away, his seraphic brow creased with worry. Blyth said, with a slight smile: "He means well, Inspector."
"Yes, that's a vice that makes more trouble than any other," said Hemingway. "If you ask me, there very likely wouldn't have been a murder at all if it hadn't been for him getting ideas about peace and goodwill, and assembling all these highly uncongenial people under the same roof at the same time."
"I fear you are a cynic, Inspector."