V. — THE THEORY OF MODERATE MURDER
Colonel Hayter, the Chief of the Police, was moving towards the inner rooms with a motion that was casual but not accidental. Barbara indeed had rather wondered why such an official had accompanied them on a purely social visit, and she now began to entertain dim and rather incredible possibilities. The clergyman had turned away to one of the bookstands and was turning over the leaves of a volume with feverish excitement; it seemed almost that he was muttering to himself. He was a little like a man looking up a quotation on which he has been challenged.
“I hear you have a very nice garden here, Mr. Snow,” said Hayter. “I should rather like to look at your garden.”
Snow turned a startled face over his shoulder; he seemed at first unable to detach his mi
