"Well, what's the news? You have got news, haven't you?" He became serious, and looked earnestly, at Grant. "Something real turned up?"
"I just wanted to know what you were doing in Dover on that Wednesday night."
"In Dover?"
"A fortnight last Wednesday."
"Someone been pulling your leg?"
"Listen, Mr. Harmer, your lack of frankness is complicating everything. It's keeping us from running down the man who killed Christine Clay. The whole business is cock-eyed. You come clean about your movements on that Wednesday night, and half the irrelevant bits and pieces that are weighing the case down can be shorn off and thrown away. We can't see the outline of it with all the bits that are covering it up and hanging on to it. You want to help us get our man, don't you? Well, prove it!"
"I like you a lot, Inspector. I never thought I'd like a cop so much. But I told you already: I lost my way looking for Chris's cottage, and slept in the car."
"And if I bring witnesses to prove that you were in Dover after midnight?"
"I still slept in the car."
Grant was silent, disappointed. Now he would have to go to Champneis.