Джорджетт Хейер - Death in the Stocks

Hannasyde did not speak for a moment or two. Then he said: “What a case! I apologise for not taking your amateur efforts seriously, Mr Carrington. You ought to be in the CID. That pistol, by the way, had been recently oiled. There should be traces of oil on the gloves that Violet Williams wore, or in her hand-bag, where I suppose she carried it. What a fool she was to use Miss Vereker's gun! Suspicion was bound to fall on young Vereker.”

“Yes, but she thought he was provided with a safe alibi,” Giles reminded him. “I don't suppose, either, that she could lay her hands on any other pistol. Nor is she a clever woman by any means. I grant you that she planned the first murder neatly, but it was quite easy to kill Arnold and leave no trace. When it came to staging a suicide it was far more difficult. There were no clues to destroy in the first place, several in the second.”

“A thoroughly diabolical young woman!” Hannasyde said roundly. “Now, Mr Carrington, if you'll let me have the names and addresses of your witnesses - ?”

“Yes, certainly,” Giles said, smothering a yawn. “And then perhaps you'll release my client.”

Hannasyde said seriously: “I'm sorry for that boy. This'll be a bad business for him.”

“I expect he'll get over it,” Giles answered. “It wouldn't surprise me if, when he's had time to recover from the shock of it all, he and Leslie Rivers made a match of it.”

“I hope they will,” said Hannasyde, glancing sideways at Giles. “And does Miss Vereker mean to marry Mesurier - er - soon?”

Giles smiled. “No, that's off. Miss Vereker has become engaged for the third and last time.”

Hannasyde stretched his hand out across the table, and gripped Giles Carrington's. “Splendid!” he said. “Many congratulations! Yes, come in, Sergeant; while we've been chasing red-herrings, Mr Carrington has solved our case for us. We shall have to let Mr Vereker go after all!”

“Let him go?” said Hemingway. “You'll have a job to make him go. The last I saw of him he was asking what they'd charge for board-residence till he's finished a set of the most shocking pictures you ever laid eyes on. Portraits of the Police, he calls them. Libels, I call them. Are we going to make an arrest, Super?”

“Yes, thanks to Mr Carrington. Just take down the addresses he's got for us, will you?”

The Sergeant drew out his notebook and opened it, and moistening the tip of his pencil, looked at Giles, waiting for him to begin.