It was genuine enough—I ought to know: I had it quashed."
"Did this Boonton Dogberry know Cleaver by sight?"
"No, but he gave me an accurate description of him. And naturally he took the car's number."
Vance looked at Markham with open-eyed sorrow.
"My dear Markham—my very dear Markham—can't you see that all you've actually proved is that a bucolic traffic Nemesis handed a speed-violation summons to a smooth-faced, middle-aged, stout man who was driving Cleaver's car near Boonton at half past eleven on the night of the murder? . . . And, my word! Isn't that exactly the sort of alibi the old boy would arrange if he intended taking the lady's life at midnight or thereabouts?"
"Come, come!" laughed Markham. "That's a bit too far-fetched. You'd give every law-breaker credit for concocting schemes of the most diabolical cunning."
"So I would," admitted Vance apathetically. "And—d'ye know?—I rather fancy that's just the kind of schemes a law-breaker would concoct, if he was planning a murder, and his own life was at stake. What really amazes me is the naïve assumption of you investigators that a murderer gives no intelligent thought whatever to his future safety. It's rather touchin', y' know."
Markham grunted.
"Well, you can take it from me, it was Cleaver himself who got that summons."
"I dare say you're right," Vance conceded. "I merely suggested the possibility of deception, don't
