VThe Inspector ran Miss Hinchcliffe to earth by a pigsty.

“Nice creatures, pigs,” said Miss Hinchcliffe, scratching a wrinkled pinkback. “Coming on well, isn’t he? Good bacon round about Christmas time.

Well, what do you want to see me about? I told your people last night Ihadn’t the least idea who the man was. Never seen him anywhere in theneighbourhood snooping about or anything of that sort. Our Mrs. Moppsays he came from one of the big hotels in Medenham Wells. Why didn’the hold up someone there if he wanted to? Get a much better haul.”

That was undeniable—Craddock proceeded with his inquiries.

“Where were you exactly when the incident took place?”

“Incident! Reminds me of my A.R.P. days. Saw some incidents then, Ican tell you. Where was I when the shooting started? That what you wantto know?”

“Yes.”

“Leaning up against the mantelpiece hoping to God someone would of-fer me a drink soon,” replied Miss Hinchcliffe promptly.

“Do you think that the shots were fired blindly, or aimed carefully atone particular person?”

“You mean aimed at Letty Blacklock? How the devil should I know?

Damned hard to sort out what your impressions really were or whatreally happened after it’s all over. All I know is the lights went out, andthat torch went whirling round dazzling us all, and then the shots werefired and I thought to myself, ‘If that damned young fool Patrick Simmonsis playing his jokes with a loaded revolver somebody will get hurt.’”

“You thought it was Patrick Simmons?”

“Well, it seemed likely. Edmund Swettenham is intellectual and writesbooks and doesn’t care for horseplay, and old Colonel Easterbrookwouldn’t think that sort of thing funny. But Patrick’s a wild boy. However,I apologize to him for the idea.”

“Did your friend think it might be Patrick Simmons?”

“Murgatroyd? You’d better talk to her yourself. Not that you’ll get anysense out of her. She’s down the orchard. I’ll yell for her if you like.”

Miss Hinchcliffe raised her stentorian voice in a powerful bellow:

“Hi-youp, Murgatroyd….”

“Coming …” floated back a thin cry.

“Hurry up—Polieece,” bellowed Miss Hinchcliffe.

Miss Murgatroyd arrived at a brisk trot very much out of breath. Herskirt was down at the hem and her hair was escaping from an inadequatehair net. Her round, good-natured face beamed.

“Is it Scotland Yard?” she asked breathlessly. “I’d no idea. Or I wouldn’thave left the house.”

“We haven’t called in Scotland Yard yet, Miss Murgatroyd. I’m InspectorCraddock from Milchester.”

“Well, that’s very nice, I’m sure,” said Miss Murgatroyd vaguely. “Haveyou found any clues?”

“Where were you at the time of the crime, that’s what he wants to know,Murgatroyd?” said Miss Hinchcliffe. She winked at Craddock.

“Oh, dear,” gasped Miss Murgatroyd. “Of course. I ought to have beenprepared. Alibis, of course. Now, let me see, I was just with everybodyelse.”

“You weren’t with me,” said Miss Hinchcliffe.

“Oh, dear, Hinch, wasn’t I? No, of course, I’d been admiring the chrysan-themums. Very poor specimens, really. And then it all happened—only Ididn’t really know it had happened—I mean I didn’t know that anythinglike that had happened. I didn’t imagine for a moment that it was a realrevolver—and all so awkward in the dark, and that dreadful screaming. Igot it all wrong, you know. I thought she was being murdered—I mean therefugee girl. I thought she was having her throat cut across the hall some-where. I didn’t know it was him—I mean, I didn’t even know there was aman. It was really just a voice, you know, saying, ‘Put them up, please.’”

“‘Stick ’em up!’” Miss Hinchcliffe corrected. “And no suggestion of‘please’ about it.”

“It’s so terrible to think that until that girl started screaming I was actu-ally enjoying myself. Only being in the dark was very awkward and I got aknock on my corn. Agony, it was. Is there anything more you want toknow, Inspector?”

“No,” said Inspector Craddock, eyeing Miss Murgatroyd speculatively. “Idon’t really think there is.”

Her friend gave a short bark of laughter.

“He’s got you taped, Murgatroyd.”

“I’m sure, Hinch,” said Miss Murgatroyd, “that I’m only too willing to sayanything I can.”

“He doesn’t want that,” said Miss Hinchcliffe.

She looked at the Inspector. “If you’re doing this geographically I sup-pose you’ll go to the Vicarage next. You might get something there. Mrs.

Harmon looks as vague as they make them—but I sometimes think she’sgot brains. Anyway, she’s got something.”

As they watched the Inspector and Sergeant Fletcher stalk away, AmyMurgatroyd said breathlessly:

“Oh, Hinch, was I very awful? I do get so flustered!”

“Not at all,” Miss Hinchcliffe smiled. “On the whole, I should say you didvery well.”