"There's one thing we haven't told the papers, and it wasn't emphasised at the inquest." The inspector leaned forward impressively.
Malcolm Sage remained immobile, his eyes on his finger-nails.
"The doctor," continued the inspector, "says that the professor had been dead for about forty-eight hours, whereas we know he'd eaten a dinner about twenty-six hours before he was found."
Malcolm Sage looked up slowly. In his eyes there was an alert look that told of keen interest.
"You challenged him?" he queried.
"Ra-ther," was the response, "but he got quite ratty. Said he'd stake his professional reputation and all that sort of thing."
Malcolm Sage meditatively inclined his head several times in succession; his hand felt mechanically for his fountain-pen.
"Then there was another thing that struck me as odd," continued Inspector Carfon, intently examining the end of his cigar. "The professor had evidently been destroying a lot of old correspondence. The paper-basket was full of torn-up letters and envelopes, and the grate was choc-a-bloc with charred paper. That also we kept to ourselves."
"That all?"
"I think so," was the reply. "There's not the vestige of a clue that
I can find."