“Oh, Stimson! We could have spared that ugly Early-Victorian tea-service. Well, well, you faithful soul, do you know anything?”
“There is this clue, my lady. We found it on the grass near the garage.”
He held out a silver match-box.
“A match-box?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She examined it carefully. The parson, pince-nez on nose, took it gently from her hand. Then, with the air of Sherlock Holmes, he said portentously:
“It bears a German inscription. I draw the obvious inference—it was made in Germany.”
The crowd sighed with relief as the parson continued in the tones ordinarily sacrosanct to the lectern and pulpit:
“I infer more. One of our enemies, some alien, possibly, who has escaped internment, must have committed this terrible crime.”
The crowd hummed approval. Lady Selina, more alert than ever, observed derisively: