CHAPTER EIGHTEENIt was some time later that Macdonald fulfilled a promise he had made to Sally Dillon to come and spend an evening at her flat before she left for her job in Switzerland, and “tell her all about it.” Arrayed in her best frock, looking very charming and chic (and, to Macdonald’s eyes, almost pathetically youthful), she sat him in the best chair and provided him with a glass of sherry.
“But you couldn’t have believed that Dr. Garstang did it,” she protested.
“Oh, couldn’t I?” rejoined Macdonald cheerfully. “I was prepared to believe that any of you had done it—though I doubted your own capacity either to wield an iron bar in murderous fashion, or to empty a man’s pockets efficiently. And the large writing lady seemed a most probable suspect when she failed to materialise in
