“It said: ‘Sir Clinton Driffield (and some letters after the name), Chief Constable.’ Then in the left-hand corner was the address: ‘Police Headquarters, Westerhaven.’ ”
Sir Clinton caught Flamborough's eye and they exchanged glances. The Inspector had little difficulty in seeing that his first impression had been wrong. It was not the Chief Constable who had ransacked Avice Deepcar's house.
Sir Clinton took out his card-case and handed a card to Mrs. Marple.
“It wasn't that card I showed you, was it?”
Mrs. Marple scanned the card for a moment.
“Oh, no, sir. This one reads quite different.”
Sir Clinton nodded and took back the card.
“I think that's really all I want to know, Mrs. Marple. Perhaps Inspector Flamborough may want to ask you a question or two later on.”
Avice Deepcar seemed by no means satisfied at this close to the interview.
“That's all very fine, Sir Clinton,” she said, “but you seem to think you've satisfied me. You haven't. You can't invade my house in this way and then pass the whole thing off as if it were part of your routine. And you can't carry away a pile of my private letters and keep them without my consent. I insist on having them back. If you don't, I'll see my solicitor at once about the matter. And may I remind you again that you owe me some apology for your proceedings?”