Nine
They drove along Wilbraham Crescent, turned to the right up Albany Road and then to the rightagain along the second instalment of Wilbraham Crescent.
“Simple really,” said Hardcastle.
“Once you know,” said Colin.
“61 really backs on Mrs. Hemming’s house—but a corner of it touches on 19, so that’s goodenough. It will give you a chance to look at your Mr. Bland¹. No foreign help, by the way.”
“So there goes a beautiful theory.” The car drew up and the two men got out.
“Well, well,” said Colin. “Some front garden!”
It was indeed a model of surburban perfection in a small way. There were beds of geraniumswith lobelia edging. There were large fleshy-looking begonias, and there was a fine display ofgarden ornaments²—frogs, toadstools, comic gnomes³ and pixies.
“I’m sure Mr. Bland must be a nice worthy⁴ man,” said Colin, with a shudder⁵. “He couldn’t havethese terrible ideas if he wasn’t.” He added as Hardcastle pushed the bell, “Do you expect him tobe in at this time of the morning?”
“I rang up,” explained Hardcastle. “Asked him if it would be convenient.”
At that moment a smart little Traveller van drew up and turned into the garage, which hadobviously been a late addition to the house. Mr. Josaiah Bland got out, slammed the door andadvanced towards them. He was a man of medium height with a bald head and rather small blueeyes. He had a hearty⁶ manner.
“Inspector⁷ Hardcastle? Come right in.”
He led the way into the sitting room. It evinced several proofs of prosperity. There wereexpensive and rather ornate lamps, an Empire writing desk, a coruscated⁸ ormolu set ofmantelpiece ornaments, a marquetry cabinet, and a jardinère full of flowers in the window. Thechairs were modern and richly upholstered.

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