“Knew him well, sir.”
“You can't throw any light on this business?”
“No, sir. It's amazing to me, sir, if there's anything in what the doctor says.”
“Ah! And what does the doctor say?”
“Swears it's foul play somehow, sir.”
“Indeed? He didn't go so far as that when he spoke to me about it.”
The constable seemed rather confused to find himself taken so literally.
“Didn't quite mean that, sir. What I meant was I could see from his manner that something's amiss.”
Sapcote, conscious that he had let his tongue run away with him, glanced anxiously at Sir Clinton's face. The expression on it reassured him. Evidently this wasn't the kind of a man who would eat you if you made a slip. The chief constable rose considerably in his subordinate's estimation.
“Nice little garden, this,” Sir Clinton remarked, casting his eyes round the tiny enclosure. “A bit on the shady side, perhaps, with all these trees about. Did you ever come up here to visit Peter Hay, constable?”