The Inspector was looking out of the window when Stephen entered the room, but he turned at the sound of the opening door, and said: ‘Good-morning, sir. Looks like the thaw has set in properly.’

Stephen eyed him in some surprise. ‘How true!’ he said. ‘Shall we cut the cackle?’

‘Just as you like, sir,’ Hemingway replied, ‘What I came for was to give you back your cigarette-case.’

He held it out as he spoke, and had the satisfaction of seeing that he had succeeded in startling this uncomfortably brusque young man.

‘What the hell!’ Stephen demanded, his eyes lifting from the case to Hemingway’s face. ‘What kind of a damned silly joke do you imagine you’re playing?’

‘Oh, I’m not playing any joke!’ responded Hemingway.

Stephen took the case, and stood holding it, ‘I thought this was your most valuable piece of evidence?’

‘Yes, so did I,’ agreed Hemingway. ‘And I don’t mind admitting that it’s very disappointing for me to have to give it up. But there it is! A detective’s life is one long disappointment.’

Stephen smiled, in spite of himself. ‘Would you like to explain a little? Why do I get my case back? I thought you had me booked for the County gaol.’

‘I don’t deny that’s about what I thought too,’ Hemingway admitted. ‘And if only you’d left a finger-print or two on that case of yours, I daresay I’d have had the handcuffs on you by now.’

‘Didn’t I?’ said Stephen, frowning in a little perplexity.

‘Not one!’ said Hemingway cheerfully.

Stephen glanced down at the case, turning it over in his hand. ‘I don’t seem to be very bright this morning. Am I to infer that my finger-prints had been wiped off?’

‘That’s about the size of it, sir.’

He encountered a very hard, direct look. ‘Mind telling me if there were any finger-prints on it at all?’

‘No,’ said Hemingway; ‘I’m not one to make a lot of mystery. There weren’t any.’

‘Oh!’ said Stephen. Again he looked at the case, his frown deepening. ‘A plant, in fact!’

The Inspector fixed him with a bright, enquiring gaze. ‘Got any ideas about that, sir?’

Stephen slipped the case into his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation, he said: ‘No. Not immediately. When I do get an idea –’

‘Now, you don’t want to go taking the law into your own hands, sir!’ interrupted the Inspector. ‘What do you think I’m here for? If you know anything, you tell me, and don’t start any rough-houses on your own, because though I can’t say I’d blame you, I’d have to take you up for disturbing the peace, which, properly speaking, isn’t my line of business at all.’

Stephen laughed. ‘What would you do if you found that someone had tried to do the dirty on you to this tune, Inspector?’

The Inspector coughed. ‘Report it to the proper quarters,’ he said firmly.

‘Well, I’d rather rub his damned nose in it!’ said Stephen.

‘As long as you don’t go farther than that, I’ve no objection,’ said Hemingway, with the utmost cordiality. ‘And if you want a bit of advice, don’t go leaving any more of your things about! It puts highly unsuitable ideas into people’s heads, besides setting the police off on wild-goose chases, which is a very reprehensible thing to do, let me tell you!’