In his ardor to advance his theory of the crime, tiny white flecks of unbecoming foam formed on Inspector Fortis' lips, evidence that he was, as I had suspected, again taking tranquilizers. It is my feeling that in the detection game, observation is as least as important as deduction, and a tranquilized detective can only be a second-rate observer. Save yourself for the big ones. This is open and shut murder. No fancy concoctions needed.
Murder is much too serious of business for that.
Madame Wrench was the very picture of an elderly woman frightened out of her wits to have been in a house where murder was committed. She was accompanied by her son, a natty dwarf dressed in a bowtie and a yellow suit befitting a racetrack tout. He excused himself before I could get a careful look at his manicured nails, but I did catch a glance of his tobacco-yellowed fingers. Madame Wrench returned shortly, bearing a pallid cup of weak British tea of the type which makes me often pity these island people of such pitiful taste. However, observing her trembling hands, I asked.