“You’re not arresting Uncle Len, are you?” inquired Dennis facetiously.
“Why should I?” inquired Slack.
“There’s a lot of evidence against him,” declared Dennis. “You ask Mary. Only the day before the murder he was wishing Colonel Protheroe out of the world. Weren’t you, Uncle Len?”
“Er—” I began.
Inspector Slack turned a slow suspicious stare upon me, and I felt hot all over. Dennis is exceedingly tiresome. He ought to realize that a policeman seldom has a sense of humour.
“Don’t be absurd, Dennis,” I said irritably.
The innocent child opened his eyes in a stare of surprise.
“I say, it’s only a joke,” he said. “Uncle Len just said that anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world a service.”
“Ah!” said Inspector Slack, “that explains something the maid said.”
Servants very seldom have any sense of humour either. I cursed Dennis heartily in my mind for bringing the matter up. That and the clock together will make the inspector suspicious of me for life.
“Come on, Clement,” said Colonel Melchett.
“Where are you going? Can I come, too?” asked Dennis.
“No, you can’t,” I snapped.
We left him looking after us with a hurt expression. We went up to the neat front door of Mrs. Price Ridley’s house and the inspector knocked and rang in what I can only describe as an official manner.