Sir Clinton closed his eyes as though pondering deeply.
“Yes indeed,” he said oracularly, “what was the silk thread?”
He sat up suddenly and beamed on Wendover.
“I should say it was a clue.”
“Damn your leg-pulling,” the Squire broke out. “I shan’t go on, if you’re going to make the whole thing into a farce.”
Sir Clinton apologised.
“Sorry. You took the wrong meaning out of what I said. But don’t let’s waste time over it. Please go ahead, Squire.”
Only partly mollified, Wendover continued his analysis.
“The next thing is the burglary. That was obviously a case of getting at some document belonging to Neville Shandon. You remember the fragment of notes for his cross-examination that was found in his hand? They got some of his stuff, but clearly they suspected that he might have more notes. So they burgled his room to see if they could find anything further.”
This time Sir Clinton showed no desire to criticise.