Sorry this took SO LONG. I kept trying to do things with it that didn’t work; the upshot is, alas, short and silly. (It might eventually ripen into something longer but still facetious.)
It wasn’t the broken glass that had first attracted his attention, but Morse wasn’t going to tell MacNutt that.
MacNutt was explaining to the new P.C., at grandiloquent but rhetorically amateurish length, the importance of the broken glass. Morse thought that he should have known better. Come to that, any constable with more than half a brain should have known better than to listen.
Not even a burglar in a panic was likely to break out of a window onto Bridge Street, true. But that wasn’t the most remarkable thing about the set-up. More remarkable, in Morse’s view, was that the would-be thief had fled away from the railway station. More remarkable still the fact that he – definitely he, thought Morse – had fled without making an attempt on the stereo. Its value was enough to guarantee it transport, at least to the first likely cover (on a barge, or even, at this time of year, under a bush, with the pious hope that it wouldn’t be disturbed by rutting undergraduates.) No; the most remarkable thing, as Morse saw it, was that from this depressing front window, without even a box of wilted geraniums to cheer it, had been issuing the strains of the Pilgrims’ Chorus.