"I don't see why," said Ermyntrude. "Something tells me he did it!"
"Yes, but the trouble is that something tells m° that you can't get a three-foot rifle into a thirty-inch case," replied Hemingway. "It does seem a shame, doesn't it? But, there, that's a detective's life all over! Full of disappointments."
Chapter Fourteen
Since Ermyntrude was extremely loth to abandon what by this time amounted to a conviction that her bete noire had murdered Wally, the Inspector's last remark annoyed her considerably. She said that to carp and to criticise and to raise niggling objections was men all over; and when the Inspector patiently asked her to explain how White could have packed a rifle into a case designed to carry, separately, the barrels and stock of a shot-gun, she replied that it was not her business to solve such problems, but rather his.
The Inspector swallowed twice before he could trust himself to answer. "Well, if he did it, all I can say is that he must be a highly talented conjurer, which, if true, is a piece of very important information which has been concealed from me."
"Of course he's not a conjurer!" said Ermyntrude crossly. "And don't think you can laugh at me, because I won't put up with it!"
At this point, Dr Chester intervened, saying with authority that Ermyntrude had talked enough, and must on no account allow herself to become agitated. He ordered her to rest quietly until luncheon was served, and, at a sign from him, Mary coaxed her to retire to the sofa in the drawing-room.
The Inspector threw Chester a look of gratitude, and said, when Mary had taken Ermyntrude away: "It beats me how you medical gentlemen get away with it, sir! If I'd so much as hinted to her that what she wanted was to cool-off, she'd have turned me out of the house, or had a fit of hysterics, which would have come to the same thing."
"You're not her doctor, Inspector," answered Chester with a faint smile. "You mustn't forget that I've attended Mrs. Carter for many years."
"Know her very well, I dare say?"