“I've tried to get hold of him, sir. But he's left the town and I can't get on his track. He's gone off to some race-meeting or other, I expect. He often goes off like that and leaves no address. I'll lay hands on him as soon as he comes back to Westerhaven.”
“He's an essential witness, I suspect; so don't let him slip through your fingers. You'd better ask for assistance from the local police in likely places.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And now, Inspector, how are you getting along with the game of eliminations? How low have you brought the possibles out of the original nine solutions?”
Flamborough produced his often-unfolded scrap of paper and scanned it once more.
“If one accepts what you said a minute or two ago, sir, then the drugging of Mrs. Silverdale was meant to be plain drugging and wasn't wilful murder. So the last case drops out.”
He put his pencil through the line of writing.
“That leaves only two alternatives:
| Hassendean | Mrs. Silverdale |
|---|---|
| X—Suicide | Accident |
| Y—Murder | Accident |
And young Hassendean, from all accounts, was hardly the lad to suicide by shooting himself twice in the body—too painful for him. So it really looks rather like Case Y. Certainly it's coming down to brass tacks quicker than I thought it would.”