“I’m glad I was entirely right over something,” murmured Roger.
“And Miss Dammers,” bowed Mr. Chitterwick, “was most helpful. Most helpful.”
“Although not convincing,” supplemented that lady drily.
“Although I’m afraid I did not find her altogether convincing,” agreed Mr. Chitterwick, with an apologetic air. “But it was really the theory she gave us that at last showed me the truth. For she also put yet another aspect on the crime, with her information regarding the—h’m!—the affair between Mrs. Bendix and Sir Eustace. And that really,” said Mr. Chitterwick, with another little bow to the informant, “was the foundation-stone of the whole business.”
“I didn’t see how it could fail to be,” said Miss Dammers. “But I still maintain that my deductions from it are the correct ones.”
“Perhaps if I may just put my own forward?” hesitated Mr. Chitterwick, apparently somewhat dashed.
Miss Dammers accorded a somewhat tart permission.
Mr. Chitterwick collected himself. “Oh, yes; I should have said that Miss Dammers was quite right in one important particular, her assumption that it was not so much the affair between Mrs. Bendix and Sir Eustace that was at the bottom of the crime, as Mrs. Bendix’s character. That really brought about her own death. Miss Dammers, I should imagine, was perfectly right in her tracing out of the intrigue, and her imaginative insight into Mrs. Bendix’s reactions—I think that is the word?” Mr. Chitterwick inquired diffidently of authority. “Mrs. Bendix’s reactions to it, but not, I consider, in her deductions regarding Sir Eustace’s growing boredom.
“Sir Eustace, I am led to believe, was less inclined to be bored than to share the lady’s distress. For the real point, which happened to escape Miss Dammers, is that Sir Eustace was quite infatuated with Mrs. Bendix. Far more so than she with him.
“That,” pronounced Mr. Chitterwick, “is one of the determining factors in this tragedy.”
Everybody pinned the factor down. The Circle’s attitude towards Mr. Chitterwick by this time was one of intelligent expectation. Probably no one really thought that he had found the right solution, and Miss Dammers’s stock had not been appreciably lowered. But certainly it seemed that the man had at any rate got something to offer.
“Miss Dammers,” proceeded the object of their attention, “was right in another point she made too, namely that the inspiration of this murder, or perhaps I should say the method of it, certainly came from that book of poisoning cases she mentioned, of which her own copy (she tells us) is at present in Sir Eustace’s rooms—planted there,” added Mr. Chitterwick, much shocked, “by the murderess.
“And another useful fact she established. That Mr. Bendix had been lured (really,” apologised Mr. Chitterwick, “I can use no other word) to the Rainbow Club that morning. But it was not Mrs. Bendix who telephoned to him on the previous afternoon. Nor was he sent there for the particular purpose of receiving the chocolates from Sir Eustace. The fact that the lunch appointment had been cancelled was altogether outside the criminal’s knowledge. Mr. Bendix was sent there to be a witness to Sir Eustace receiving the parcel; that was all.
“The intention was, of course, that Mr. Bendix should have Sir Eustace so connected in his mind with the chocolates that if suspicion should ever arise against any definite person, that of Mr. Bendix would be directed before long to Sir Eustace himself. For the fact of his wife’s intrigue would be bound to come to his knowledge, as indeed I understand privately that it has, causing him naturally the most intense distress.”
“So that’s why he’s been looking haggard,” exclaimed Roger.
“Without doubt,” Mr. Chitterwick agreed gravely. “It was a wicked plot. Sir Eustace, you see, was expected to be dead by then and incapable of denying his guilt, and such evidence as there was had been carefully arranged to point to murder and suicide on his part. That the police never suspected him (that is, so far as we know), simply shows that investigations do not always take the turn that the criminal expects. And in this case,” observed Mr. Chitterwick with some severity, “I think the criminal was altogether too subtle.”
“If that was her very involved reason for ensuring the presence of Mr. Bendix at the Rainbow Club,” agreed Miss Dammers with some irony, “her subtlety certainly overreached itself.” It was evident that not only on the point of psychology did Miss Dammers not find herself ready to accept Mr. Chitterwick’s conclusions.
“That, indeed, is exactly what happened,” Mr. Chitterwick pointed out mildly. “Oh, and while we are on the subject of the chocolates, I ought to add that the reason why they were sent to Sir Eustace’s club was not only so that Mr. Bendix might be a witness of their arrival, but also, I should imagine, so that Sir Eustace would be sure to take them with him to his lunch-appointment. The murderess of course would be sufficiently conversant with his ways to know that he would almost certainly spend the morning at his club and go straight on to lunch from there; the odds were enormous that he would take the box of Mrs. Bendix’s favourite chocolates with him.
“I think we may regard it as an instance of the criminal’s habitual overlooking of some vital point that is to lead eventually to detection, that this murderess completely lost sight of the possibility that the appointment for lunch might be cancelled. She is a particularly ingenious criminal,” said Mr. Chitterwick with gentle admiration, “and yet even she is not immune from this failing.”
“Who is she, Mr. Chitterwick?” ingenuously asked Mrs. Fielder-Flemming.
Mr. Chitterwick answered her with a positively roguish smile. “Everybody else has withheld the
