"Deduction, I suppose?" said Dinah, cocking her head on one side.
"Pure deduction. I can't find his footprints. I wish you'd come down."
Dinah obeyed. "As a matter of fact he isn't back yet. He had to take Mr. Tremlowe to the station. Did you see him wending thither wards?"
"I didn't, but I saw him drive off with his cousin. So when you called, "Is that you, Geoffrey?" I leaped to the con — that is to say, I deduced that they hadn't yet arrived."
"What a loss you'll be to Scotland Yard when you start that chicken farm!" remarked Miss Fawcett admiringly.
"I shall, of course, but it can't be helped. I'd very nearly made up my mind this should be my last case when I first came down here. I'm quite decided now that it shall be."
"You mustn't let yourself get disheartened," said Miss Fawcett, firmly putting the conversation back on to a flippant basis. "For all you know you may suddenly hit on a first-class clue, proving that I did it. You should never trust to alibis. I know I've read that somewhere."
"If I found that you had done it -" said Inspector Harding in much too serious a voice. "Well, that's too horrible a thought. Let's talk of something else."
Ten minutes later, when Geoffrey and Francis entered the house, Miss Fawcett and Inspector Harding were seated side by side on a black-oak settle, amicably exchanging views on Life, Tastes, and Ambitions.
"Dear me!" said Francis, at his blandest. "I'm afraid we have interrupted a tete-a-tete. Or is it just police investigation?"