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‘Well, this morning I sent a policeman to watch Bayley’s
house, and to follow him when he went out. At half past one he
went to the Randolph Hotel, and met a woman there – a
beautiful woman. After he’d left her, I told the policeman to take
Bayley back to the police station.’
‘So he’s there now?’ said Lewis slowly.
‘Yes, I telephoned them just now. It seems that he’s ready to
talk. So let’s go, shall we?’
Lewis started the car and drove in silence for some minutes.
‘Morse has won again!’ he thought. Then he said: ‘What did make
you think it was Bayley, sir?’
‘A silly little thing, really. When I first saw Bayley, I noticed his
hands – short, fat fingers, he has. And then, this morning, I read
Sheila’s story again – and she talks about the gardener’s hands,
‘with their short, fat fingers’. But there’s another thing, Lewis. So
often it’s the person who finds the body who was responsible for
the murder.’