"I see. And in the hour and a half — roughly — between your getting up and the finding of Miss Clay's body you walked to the Gap, stole the car, drove it in the direction of Canterbury, regretted what you had done, came back, and found that Miss Clay had been drowned. Is that a complete record of your actions?"
"Yes, I think so."
"If you felt so grateful to Miss Clay, it was surely an extraordinary thing to do."
"Extraordinary isn't the word at all. Even yet I can't believe I did it."
"You are quite sure that you didn't enter the water that morning?"
"Of course I'm sure. Why?"
"When was your last swim? Previous to Thursday morning, I mean?"
"Noon on Wednesday."
"And yet your swimming suit was soaking wet on Thursday morning."
"How do you know that! Yes, it was. But not with salt water. It had been spread to dry on the roof below my window, and when I was dressing on Thursday morning I noticed that the birds in the tree — an apple tree hangs over that gable — had made too free with it. So I washed it in the water I had been washing in."