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Colonel O'Halloran, a small, slightly built man, wiry and brown faced, thinning hair crowning a high forehead, wore an unmistakably horsey suit. He had also those rather large, square hands which look as though they were accustomed to managing horses, and he stood beside a slightly untidy desk, tapping his fingers on the top, and shooting little interrogatory glances from deep-set gray eyes at the Chief Inspector. His nervous movements were interminable; for when he was not tapping his prominent teeth he was tapping the desk, or filling a pipe, or rolling a cigarette (he made his own) or toying with papers, or staring out of the window.

"Cause of Sir Giles's death fully established; been confirmed by specialists." The Assistant Commissioner spoke rapidly, in a high, staccato, abbreviated manner. "Personal possessions appear to be intact. Since they include wrist-watch, nearly twenty pounds ready money, may dismiss robbery as motive."

Now, Firth was prepared to stand by his superior officer to the last trench and the last shot; but he was not prepared always to agree with him or even to pretend to do so. "In spite of which, sir," he said, "I hold to the theory, wi' respect, that robbery was the motive."