In the Teeth of the Evidence by Dorothy L. Sayers Page A

‘Didn’t you ring up the police?’
        ‘Wot? And ’ave ’im come up behind me and dot me one? Not me! There might be a gang of ’em ’anging round the place.’
        ‘Well, you’re a fine night-watchman,’ said Mr Bowles, ‘I don’t think. Racing down here that-a-way and the murderer maybe escaping all this while. Didn’t think to lock the gate after you, I suppose? ’Course you didn’t. Now, you pull yourself together and take a couple of the lads and go straight on back to the Mills, and I’ll ring up Inspector Weybridge. That’s right, George. You give ’im a brandy and try to make a man of ’im.’
        ‘I’ll run him up to the Mills,’ suggested Mr Egg, to whom a murder or a mystery was very nearly as satisfying as an order for 12 dozen ports at 190s. the dozen. ‘My car’s just out in the yard. I can start her up in two seconds.’
        ‘That’s fine,’ said the landlord. ‘And I don’t mind if I come myself. George, reach me my big stick, in case we meet anything, and ring up the police-station and tell the Missus I’ve gone out for a bit and can she come and ’elp in the bar. Now then, Ted, my lad. Up you come! Mr Robbins murdered! That’s a nice thing to ’appen.’
        Mr Egg, by this time, had got his car started. Mr Bowles climbed in beside him and Ted was accommodated in the back seat, between the banker and a young farmer, who had added themselves to the party.
        A run of half a mile brought them to the Twiddleton Mills. The big gates were locked, but the small side-gate stood wide open.
        ‘Look at that!’ said Mr Bowles. ‘Whoever it was, he’ll have took hisself off by now, if he’s any sense. Ted Baggitt ain’t got no ’ead, and never ’ad, since I knew him.’
        They crossed a yard and came to the door leading to the offices, which also stood wide open. A light was burning in a room on the right, and through a third open door they looked into the manager’s room. Slumped in his swivel chair, his head and arms sprawled over the desk, lay what had been Mr Robbins. One side of his skull had been ferociously battered in, and the sight was horrid enough to subdue the exuberance even of Mr Bowles. The wretched Ted sank down on a chair by the wall and began to whimper.
        ‘He’s dead, all right,’ said Monty. ‘Best not touch anything, but it can’t hurt if I – eh?’
        He extracted a clean handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the dead man’s head; after which it was clean no longer.
        ‘I don’t see no weapon,’ said Mr Bowles, gazing vaguely first at the fireplace and then at the desk, which was strewn with scattered papers.
        ‘There’s a big brass paper-weight missing,’ said Mr Harcourt. ‘It used to stand just here, by the blotting-pad. I’ve seen it scores of times.’
        Monty nodded. ‘The man will have been sitting here, in this chair at the side of the desk. They’ll have talked a bit, and then he’ll have jumped up, snatching the paper-weight, and caught Mr Robbins on the head just as he was getting to his feet. The blow was struck from in front, as you’ll have noticed.’
        ‘That looks,’ said the banker, ‘as though the murder was not premeditated.’
        ‘That’s a fact,’ replied Monty. He peered gingerly at the dead man. ‘There’s a bit of torn paper here in his left hand; perhaps that’ll tell us something. No, no, Mr Bowles. Excuse me. Best leave everything just as it is till the police come. That sounds like them now.’
        The noise of footsteps crossing the yard bore out his remark. A small group of men came in at the door, and Mr Egg found himself looking, for the second time that evening, into the face of the quiet man in plus-fours.
        ‘We meet again, Mr Egg,’ said Mr Charteris. ‘I’m the Chief Constable, and these are Dr Small and Inspector Weybridge. This is a bad business. See what you can tell us about it, Doctor. Now,