"What on earth's the matter with you?" said the Sergeant. "You can't have been on the jag, because the pubs aren't open yet."
"Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it! I will turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity; I am like a green olive tree in the house of the Lord."
"Look here, what the devil have you been up to?" demanded the Sergeant.
Glass fixed him with a sombre glare. "Mine eyes have beheld lewdness, and a Babylonish woman!" he announced.
"Where?" asked the Sergeant, suddenly interested.
"In a glittering house of corruption I have seen these things. I have escaped from an horrible pit."
"If you mean what I think you do, all I can say is that I'm ashamed of you," said the Sergeant severely. "What were you doing in that kind of a house, I'd like to know? The Chief told you to find the postman; instead of obeying orders you go and -'
"I have done as I was bidden. I have found him though my feet were led in the path of destruction."
"Now, look here, my lad, that's quite enough. There's no need to go nuts over the postman's morals. It doesn't matter to you where you found him, as long as you did find him - though I must say I'd no idea postmen got up to those kinds of larks in the suburbs. Did you get his evidence?"
"I summoned him forth from that place of sin, yes, and his wife also -'
"What?" exclaimed the Sergeant. "Here, where was the poor fellow?"
"In a playhouse, which is an habitation of the devil."
"Do you mean to tell me all this song and dance is because the postman took his wife to the pictures in his off time?" gasped the Sergeant. "It's my belief you're crazy! Now, cut it out, and let's get down to brass tacks!
Did he see Mrs. North on the night of the murder, or did he not?"
"I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart," apologised Glass, with a groan. "But I will make my report." He produced a notebook, and with a bewilderingly sudden change from zeal to officialdom, read in a toneless voice: "On the night of 17 June, having cleared the box at the corner of Glynne Road at 10.00 p.m. precisely, the postman, by name Horace Smart, of 14 Astley Villas, Marley, mounted his bicycle, and proceeded in an easterly direction, passing the gates of Greystones. Smart states he saw a woman walking down the drive."
"Did he notice whether she was carrying anything?"
"He states that she carried nothing, that when he saw her she had one hand raised to hold her hair against the breeze. With the other she held up the skirts of her dress."
"Did he recognise -'The Sergeant broke off to answer the telephone, which at that moment interrupted him. "Scotland Yard? Right! Put 'em through Hullo? Hemingway speaking."
"We've got Carpenter for you," announced a voice at the other end of the line.
"You have?" said the Sergeant incredulously. "Nice work! Where is he?"
"We don't know that, but we can tell you where he will be this evening. Got it through Light-Fingered Alec, who says Carpenter's hanging out in a basement room at 43 Barnsley Street, W. That's -'
"Half a shake!" said the Sergeant, reaching for a pencil. "43 Barnsley Street, W. - basement room. Where is Barnsley Street?"
"I'm telling you. You know the Glassmere Road? Well, Barnsley Street leads out of it into Letchley Gardens."
"Letchley Gardens? Classy address for friend Carpenter."
"It would be if he lived there, but he doesn't. Barnsley Street's not so hot. No. 43 looks like a lodging-house. Do you want Carpenter pulled in?"
"I thought you said you didn't know where he was?"
"We don't, but his landlady might."
The Sergeant thought for a moment, and then said: "No. You never know, and we don't want to give him warning we're on to him. He'll keep till he gets home. I'm meeting the Superintendent at the Yard when I get through here. We'll go along to this Barnsley Street then, and catch his lordship unawares."
"Well, from what Light-Fingered Alec told Fenton, you won't find him till latish. He's got a job in some restaurant. Anything else we can do for you?"
"Not that I know of. If he's working in a restaurant, the Chief may decide to pick him up in the morning. Anyway, I'll be seeing you. So long!" He replaced the receiver, and said with satisfaction: "Well, now we are getting on, and no mistake!" He found that Glass was still waiting, open notebook in hand, and his eyes fixed on his face, and said: "Oh yes, you! What was I saying?"
"You were about to ask me whether the man Smart recognised the woman he saw. And I answer you, No. He rode upon the other side of the road, and saw but the figure of a female, her robe caught up in one hand, the other smoothing her hair, which the breeze ruffled."
"Oh well, there doesn't seem to be much doubt it was Mrs. North, anyway!" said the Sergeant. He collected his papers together and got up. The Constable was apparently still brooding over the experience through which he had passed, for he said with a shudder: "The lamp of the wicked shall be put out: but the tabernacle of the righteous shall flourish."
"I daresay," agreed the Sergeant, bestowing his papers in his case. "But if the picture you saw was wicked enough to set you off like this, all I can say is I wish I'd seen it. I've never struck a really hot one in my life - not what I call hot, that is."
"How long shall thy vain thoughts lodge within thee?" demanded Glass. "I tell you, when the wicked perish there is shouting!"
"You go off home, and treat yourself to a nice aspirin," recommended the Sergeant. "I've had enough of you for one day."
"I will go," Glass replied, restoring his notebook to his pocket. "I am tossed up and down as the locust."
The Sergeant deigned no reply, but walked out of the office. Later, when he met Superintendent Hannasyde in his room at Scotland Yard, he said: "You've properly put your foot into it now, Chief. Turned poor old Glass into a locust, that's what you've done. You never heard such a commotion in your life!"
"What on earth - ?"
"Led his feet into a horrible pit," said the Sergeant with unction. "I've sent him off duty to get over it."
"What are you talking about?" said Hannasyde impatiently. "If you'd forget Glass and attend to this case -'
"Forget him! I wish I could! Thanks to you, he's been to the pictures, and what he's got to say about it would make your hair stand on end. However, he found the postman, and Mrs. North was seen about ten o'clock - though not recognised - and she was not carrying anything. So at any rate she was speaking the truth about the time she left Greystones. You heard about Carpenter?"
"Yes, I've been talking to Fenton about that. From what he could pick up from this Light-Fingered Alec of his, it looks as though we ought to find Carpenter at home any time after 9.30 p.m. We'll drop round to see him, Skipper."
The Sergeant nodded. "Right you are. What time?"
"Oh! Give him half-an-hour's law, just to be sure of catching him. I'll meet you at the corner of Glassmere Road and Barnsley Street at 10.00 p.m. Meanwhile, you'll like to hear that the hall porter at Chumley Mansions recognised Fletcher's photograph as soon as I showed it to him. He was "Smith" all right."
"Well, we never had much doubt, did we?" said the Sergeant. "Was he able to tell you anything more?"
"Nothing of much use to us. Like everyone else who came into contact with Fletcher, he seems to have found him invariably pleasant. He knows nothing more about the girl than he told Gale at the time of her death."
"I must say it looks as though Angela Angel's suicide and the late Ernest's murder do hang together," pondered the Sergeant. "But I'm damned if I see where North fits into it, if they do."
"We shall probably know more when we've heard what Carpenter has to say," replied Hannasyde.
"What you might call the key to the whole mystery," agreed the Sergeant.