Roger said slowly: “It’ll do, for now.”

“I still want to know why you pretended to be West.”

“Work it out later, and don’t try any rough stuff, Hansell.” Roger spoke sharply, seeing the other’s hands clench. “What’s your evidence? Wholly circumstantial? I was in the room with her, you saw me and jumped to the conclusion and charged me. That story ought to please your superintendent and give the magistrate apoplexy.”

“You were near to the axe with which she was killed,” Hansell said. “Your prints are on the axe, on the torch you were using, and they’re all over the place—including the window, where you forced entry. That girl put up a fight and clawed your face, and skin and blood off your face are under her finger-nails.”

Roger said: “I didn’t kill her. I was outside, heard a scream, broke in, and then heard moaning. I broke the door down with an axe and when I went inside, a man attacked me and knocked me out. I hadn’t been conscious again for five minutes before you arrived.”

“How did you get here?”

“By car.”

“What car do you use?”

“A Morris 12, supercharged engine, registration number SY 31.”

Hansell laughed. “That’s why a Chrysler with registration number XBU 31291 is parked in the road outside, I suppose.”

That made the frame-up as near perfect as one could ever be, by breaking down the story of how he had approached the house. His assailant had scratched his face to make it look as if he had struggled with the girl. There was even a chance that he’d transferred blood and skin from Roger’s cheeks to the girl’s fingers; he would be as thorough as that, and yet it didn’t make sense. How could the man prove that a senior officer of the Yard was someone else ? How could he hope to make that stand up ?