“Sit down, Inspector. We're talking unofficially now, you'll note. I think we might do worse than clear the decks in this business as far as possible before we go any further. It may save time in the end.”
Inspector Flamborough thought he saw a trap in front of him.
“I'd like to hear what you think of it, sir.”
The Chief Constable's smile showed that he understood what was passing in Flamborough's mind.
“I'd hate to ask a man to do something I didn't dare to do myself,” he said, with a faint twinkle in his eye. “So I'll put my cards on the table for you to look at. If the spirit moves you, Inspector, you can do the same when your turn comes.”
The Inspector's smile broadened into something like a grin.
“Very good, sir. I understand that it's purely unofficial.”
“On the face of it,” Sir Clinton began, “two people got their deaths at the bungalow last night. Young Hassendean didn't actually die there, of course, but the shooting took place there.”
Flamborough refrained from interrupting, but gave a nod of agreement.
“Deaths by violence fall under three heads, I think,” the Chief Constable pursued—“accident, suicide, and homicide, including murder. Now at the bungalow you had two people put to death, and in each case the death must have been due to one or other of these three causes. Ever do permutations and combinations at school, Inspector?”