“Oh, I understand, I thought you meant the other.”
“Are you talking in riddles to amuse yourself?”
Halley shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps you will learn the answer some day.”
After a wait of half an hour, Sergeant Andrews arrived in the car accompanied by Southgate, his wife and a fisherman. There was a look of vexation on the Sergeant’s face.
“I am afraid there is something wrong, sir,” he said to the Inspector. “It appears that on the night when the murder took place, Mr. Halley was at the Black Horse with Southgate and his wife, and was also seen by a considerable number of other people. I would not trust the landlord much myself, but the evidence of an alibi is overwhelming.”
Fletcher intervened. “There are certain movements of Southgate’s which require explanation. He had a habit of going out at night on the excuse of fishing, when it is impossible for anyone to put a boat to sea.”
The landlord grinned broadly. “I am afraid this gentleman suffers from nerves. ’E was very scared when ’e stopped at my poor place.”
When all the evidence had been heard, there was only one thing to do; Halley was released with profuse apologies from the Inspector, and was sent off in the same car in which he had been brought in as a suspected person. The police officers stared blankly at each other.
The Inspector was a man of few words.
“You have made a pretty mess of things,” he said to Fletcher, “I should think Scotland Yard will be rather pleased.”