Ah, but I've been软件app链接 thinking that out. What did Mr. Redding do most af-ternoons

 He went up to Old Hall and painted Miss Protheroe. And fromhis cottage he’d go on his motor bicycle, passing through the North Gate.

Now you see the point of the call being put through from there. The mur-derer is someone who didn’t know about the quarrel and that Mr. Reddingwasn’t going up to Old Hall any more.”

I reflected a moment to let the Inspector’s points sink into my brain.

They seemed to me logical and unavoidable.

“Were there any fingerprints on the receiver in Mr. Redding’s cottage?”

I asked.

“There were not,” said the Inspector bitterly. “That dratted old womanwho goes and does for him had been and dusted them off yesterday morn-ing.” He reflected wrathfully for a few minutes. “She’s a stupid old fool,anyway. Can’t remember when she saw the pistol last. It might have beenthere on the morning of the crime, or it might not. ‘She couldn’t say, she’ssure.’ They’re all alike!

“Just as a matter of form, I went round and saw Dr. Stone,” he went on.

“I must say he was pleasant as could be about it. He and Miss Cram wentup to that mound—or barrow—or whatever you call it, about half past twoyesterday, and stayed there all the afternoon. Dr. Stone came back alone,and she came later. He says he didn’t hear any shot, but admits he’s ab-sentminded. But it all bears out what we think.”

“Only,” I said, “you haven’t caught the murderer.”

“H’m,” said the Inspector. “It was a woman’s voice you heard throughthe telephone. It was in all probability a woman’s voice Mrs. Price Ridleyheard. If only that shot hadn’t come hard on the close of the telephone call—well, I’d know where to look.”

“Where?”