“Where to, please?”
“To play tennis.”
“Who with?”
“The Hartley Napiers.”
“At Much Benham?”
“Yes.”
“And you returned?”
“I don’t know. I tell you I never know these things.”
“You returned,” I said, “about seven-thirty.”
“That’s right,” said Lettice. “In the middle of the shemozzle. Anne having fits and Griselda supporting her.”
“Thank you, miss,” said the inspector. “That’s all I want to know.”
“How queer,” said Lettice. “It seems so uninteresting.”
She moved towards the Fiat.
The inspector touched his forehead in a surreptitious manner.
“A bit wanting?” he suggested.
“Not in the least,” I said. “But she likes to be thought so.”
“Well, I’m off to question the maids now.”
One cannot really like Slack, but one can admire his energy.