“In that case,” said Tommy thoughtfully, “why the devil doesn’t he marry her? Much simpler and safer.”
Tuppence stared at him.
“You’ve said a mouthful,” she observed.
“Oh! boy. I’m getting ready to be Miss Van Dusen, you observe.”
“Why rush to crime, where there is a lawful means near at hand?”
Tuppence reflected for a minute or two.
“I’ve got it,” she announced. “Clearly he must have married a barmaid whilst at Oxford. Origin of the quarrel with his aunt. That explains everything.”
“Then why not send poisoned sweets to the barmaid?” suggested Tommy. “Much more practical. I wish you wouldn’t jump to these wild conclusions, Tuppence.”
“They’re deductions,” said Tuppence, with a good deal of dignity. “This is your first corrida, my friend, but when you have been twenty minutes in the arena—”
Tommy flung the office cushion at her.