The Inspector said in a shaken voice: "May have made her up. Yes, I see, miss. Thank you very much indeed… No, I don't think there's anything more I want to ask you." He laid down the receiver, and said to his Sergeant: ""I'll have to be taken off this case soon, I can see that. Did you get that? Carter's rich aunt probably never existed outside of his imagination. I'll bet he floated a whole lot of phoney companies in his time! Now you get the Department for me, and find out if the Chief's there."
In a few minutes' time the Sergeant handed him the receiver, and the deep, calm, voice of Superintendent Hannasyde hailed him. "Hallo, Hemingway! How's it going?"
"Fine!" replied the Inspector. "Lovely decor, very classy cast, right out of Ibsen."
A chuckle reached him. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing, only that I'm beginning to hear noises in my head," said the Inspector.
"Oh! Like that is it? Is that what you rang up to say?"
"No, sir, I rang up to ask for a bit of research to be done by the Department."
"All right, what is it?"
"You know Chipston?" said Hemingway. "Well, I want someone to find out if there's a Home for Mentally Deficients there. If there is, I want an old lady of the name of Clara Carter. She's a spinster, she's very rich, and she's been in residence a good many years. I want to know who looks after her affairs, and where he lives; and I want someone to find out from him who, after Wallis Carter, is the heir to her property."
"Very well. It doesn't sound very difficult. Is that all?"