The only sound was the the tick tock of the large clock in the Oglivys’ living room as we sat, all five of us, uncomfortably, on the sofa. We all watched Mr. Hadley intently as he paced back and forth, defiantly not sitting on the small chair that was the only other sitting surface in the sparsely furnished room. Ms. Marmite was on the verge of tears while Mrs. Oglivy’s widower twitched nervously. Rev. Urquhart looked paler than normal with beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Madame Bonbon was gnawing on her fingernails. We were all waiting for Mr. Hadley’s verdict.
Finally he stopped, turned to face us and glared at each and every one of us in turn. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he said: “It was you,” and pointed an accusing finger.
Ms. Marmite let out a howl, Mr. Oglivy turned white then red with fury, Rev. Urquhart fainted and Madame Bonbon repeated Mr. Hadley’s damning verdict. “It was you?”
I smiled.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. The hints were all there.”