夜雨聆风“What do you mean by its not amounting to anything?” I asked.
“Well, it appears he was with a couple of pals all the afternoon. Not, as Isay, that that counts much. Men like Archer and his pals would swear toanything. There’s no believing a word they say. We know that. But thepublic doesn’t, and the jury’s taken from the public, more’s the pity. Theyknow nothing, and ten to one believe everything that’s said in the witnessbox, no matter who it is that says it. And of course Archer himself willswear till he’s black in the face that he didn’t do it.”
“Not so obliging as Mr. Redding,” I said with a smile.
“Not he,” said the Inspector, making the remark as a plain statement offact.
“It is natural, I suppose, to cling to life,” I mused.
“You’d be surprised if you knew the murderers that have got off throughthe softheartedness of the jury,” said the Inspector gloomily.
“But do you really think that Archer did it?” I asked.
It has struck me as curious all along that Inspector Slack never seems tohave any personal views of his own on the murder. The easiness or diffi-culty of getting a conviction are the only points that seem to appeal to him.
“I’d like to be a bit surer,” he admitted. “A fingerprint now, or a foot-print, or seen in the vicinity about the time of the crime. Can’t risk arrest-ing him without something of that kind. He’s been seen round Mr. Red-ding’s house once or twice, but he’d say that was to speak to his mother. Adecent body, she is. No, on the whole, I’m for the lady. If I could only getdefinite proof of blackmail—but you can’t get definite proof of anything inthis crime! It’s theory, theory, theory. It’s a sad pity that there’s not asingle spinster lady living along your road, Mr. Clement. I bet she’d haveseen something if there had been.”
His words reminded me of my calls, and I took leave of him. It wasabout the solitary instance when I had seen him in a genial mood.
