‘But we should still have to prove that Bill Fullalove was murdered, and that is just exactly what we can’t prove, and, in my opinion, never shall be able to prove. We can’t trace his movements after lunch on December 29th. We know he went out after lunch because Anstey said so, but, after that, we know nothing.’

‘Except that the dogs and cats have disappeared. And, of course, Tiny must have misled Anstey into thinking that Bill had gone to Gloucester.’

‘Yes, I know … or it may have been a genuine mistake on Anstey’s part. People do get ideas into their heads. By the way, do you think it was a genuine mistake?’

‘No. But what I think isn’t evidence.’

‘It probably will be,’ said the Chief Constable, who, beneath a curmudgeonly manner, cherished an affection for Mrs Bradley’s gifts and was rather put out of countenance at what seemed to be her negative results in this particular case. ‘Smack it about, my dear, and let’s get action. The papers are beginning to be shrill.’

‘If that that bears all things bears thee,’ quoted Mrs Bradley in solemn and sonorous Greek, ‘bear thou and be borne.’

‘That’s all very well. But fair words butter no parsnips.’

‘Do you like parsnips?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Would you agree that it does not matter to you, therefore, whether parsnips are buttered or not?’

‘Oh, but look here—!’

‘We want Mrs Robert Emming’s evidence.’

‘We shan’t get it. She’s as guilty as the two men are, and she’ll be as hard as a hammer over the money. You said so yourself.’

‘Heads fly off hammers.’

‘To the devil with your metaphors and quotations. I can’t pull the woman in and give her third degree methods!’

‘No. And I would not agree with your doing so, even if you could. But a friendly call …’

‘Friendly?’

‘Certainly, and we’ll hope, for her own sake, that she has enough common-sense to beware of the Greeks when they come bearing gifts.’

The Chief Constable shook his head and returned rather sadly to earlier matters.

‘What did you expect that we could do, even after Ed Brown confessed to having identified the deadly nightshade for Emming and Tiny, about Mrs Dalby Whittier’s death?’

‘All sorts of things. For one of them, I thought that you might possibly resurrect Ed.’

‘Resurrect him?’

‘Yes. I think that if Mr Emming saw Ed’s ghost at the top of Groaning Spinney his reactions would be interesting.’

‘I can’t risk Ed Brown’s life.’

‘Of course not. It was just an idea.’

The Chief Constable regarded her with the deep suspicion he retained for her foxier suggestions.

‘Hm!’ he said non-committally. Mrs Bradley cackled and gave him a poke in the ribs.

‘It would be something constructive, at any rate,’ she remarked, ‘and might save you a good deal of trouble.’