"I should say some days," said the manager, with diffidence.
"I should say a week. No matter. Many thanks."
Superintendent Bell with some urgency ushered the manager out. When he had done that he turned upon his inspector. "Confound you. Warren, what do you want to stare at the wastepaper basket for? That chap would have seen it if Mr. Fortune hadn't got interested in the smokes and drinks."
Reggie laughed and the inspector abased himself. "Very sorry, sir. Didn't know I stared. But it is so blooming odd."
Bell snorted and lifted the basket on to the table. It was nearly full of black burnt paper. "Why did they burn it in the basket?" said the inspector.
"Because the fireplaces are all gas stoves, I suppose," said Bell. "But I don't know why they couldn't leave the stuff on the hearth."
"Because this is a tidy crime," said Reggie. "Nice, quiet, middle-class crime. No ugly mess. I told you that."
The Superintendent gazed at him. "Now what can you know, you know?"
"I don't know. I feel. I feel the kind of man that did it. Don't you? I'll lay you odds he came of a neat, virtuous, middle-class home."
The Superintendent started. "Who are you thinking of?"
