“Yes?” the Chief Constable encouraged him.
“Then I'll send a man up to try the keys we found in young Hassendean's pocket on the lock of the bungalow door, just to clear up the broken window matter. That won't take long.”
“And then?”
“Well, I suppose I'll need to make a try at finding out who Peeping Tom was and also your Mr. Justice.”
“Quite a lot of suggestions you seem to have extracted from my little list of possibilities, Inspector. I think you owe it an apology for the rather contemptuous way you approached it at first.”
“Well, sir, it's been more suggestive than I expected, I admit.”
“One thing's certain, Inspector. The solution of the affair must lie somewhere on that little table. It's simply a matter of picking out the proper case. The odds at most are eight to one and they're really less than that if one discards some of the very improbable combinations.”
The desk-telephone rang sharply, and Sir Clinton listened to the message.
“That interests you, Inspector. A report's come in that Mr. Silverdale came home and has gone down to the Croft-Thornton. He mentioned where he was going to the constable in charge at Heatherfield, and he very thoughtfully suggested that as the Croft-Thornton is quite near here, it would be easy for us to interview him there if we desired to do so. The perfect little gentleman, in fact. Well, what about it, Inspector?”
“I suppose I'd better go at once,” Flamborough proposed after a glance at his watch.