"Except for booking a nice quiet room for me, it is," replied the Inspector. "But I wouldn't like to keep anything back, Chief, and I'm bound to tell you that I'm not absolutely sure that there's any such person as Clara Carter."
Hannasyde's voice sounded a little puzzled. "I thought you said she was a rich spinster?"
"That's right," responded the Inspector. "She's a rich spinster, gone cuckoo, if she exists. Of course, if she doesn't exist, we shall just have to forget about her, and start all over again from the beginning. That's what I want to discover."
"I suppose you know what you're about," said Hannasyde. "Clara Carter, Chipston, present heir to property. Right?"
"Right it is, Chief," replied the Inspector, and rang off. "And that's about finished me for today," he announced. "If I'm on to what I think I am, there's nothing more I can do till I hear from the Department. And if I'm not on to it, I'm still packing up for the night, because my brain's addled."
"You certainly have been hard at it today, sir," said the Sergeant. "You want to get a good night's rest."
Apparently, the Inspector enjoyed a very good night's rest, for when his subordinate saw him next morning he was his usual brisk and bright-eyed self. He went off to Stilhurst Village to pursue inquiries into Robert Steel's possible movements on the afternoon of the murder, and was coming out of the general shop there when he walked into Hugh Dering.
"Hallo!" Hugh said. "I rather wanted to see you."
"That's funny," said the Inspector. "I could do with a few minutes' chat with you myself."
"Hold on while I buy some stamps, and I'll be with you." Hugh vanished into the shop, reappearing presently to find that the Inspector had strolled on down the street to where Hugh had left his car. He soon overtook him. "Miss Cliffe tells me that you rang her up last night to make inquiries about the mythical aunt. I see what you're after, of course, but do you really believe in the aunt?"