“Well, I think I have cleared up most of the doubtful points now. Mason’s notepaper was used, I should say, because chocolates had been decided on as the vehicle and Mason’s were the only chocolate manufacturing firm who were customers of Webster’s. As it happened, this fitted very well, because it was always Mason’s chocolates that Sir Eustace bought for his—er—his friends.”
Mrs. Fielder-Flemming looked puzzled. “Because Mason’s were the only firm who were customers of Webster’s? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Oh, I am explaining all this badly,” cried Mr. Chitterwick in much distress, assuming all blame for this obtuseness. “It had to be some firm on Webster’s books, you see, because Sir Eustace has his notepaper printed at Webster’s, and he was to be identified as having been in there recently if the purloined piece was ever connected with the sample book. Exactly, in fact, as Miss Dammers did.”
Roger whistled. “Oh, I see. You mean, we’ve all been putting the cart before the horse over this piece of notepaper?”
“I’m afraid so,” regretted Mr. Chitterwick with earnestness. “Really, I’m very much afraid so.”
Insensibly opinion was beginning to turn in Mr. Chitterwick’s favour. To say the least, he was being just as convincing as Miss Dammers had been, and that without subtle psychological reconstructions and references to “values.” Only Miss Dammers herself remained outwardly sceptical; but that, after all, was only to be expected.
“Humph!” said Miss Dammers, sceptically.
“What about the motive, Mr. Chitterwick?” nodded Sir Charles with solemnity. “Jealousy, did you say? I don’t think you’ve quite cleared up that yet, have you?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Mr. Chitterwick actually blushed. “Dear me, I meant to make that clear right at the beginning. I am doing this badly. No, not jealousy, I’m inclined to fancy. Revenge. Or revenge at any rate so far as Sir Eustace was concerned, and jealousy as regards Mrs. Bendix. From what I can understand, you see, this lady is—dear me,” said Mr. Chitterwick, in distress and embarrassment, “this is very delicate ground. But I must trespass on it. Well—though she had concealed it successfully from her friends, this lady had been very much in love with Sir Eustace, and become—er—had become,” concluded Mr. Chitterwick bravely, “his mistress. That was a long time ago.
“Sir Eustace was very much in love with her too, and though he used to amuse himself with other women it was understood by both that this was quite permissible so long as there was nothing serious. The lady, I should say, is very modern and broad-minded. It was understood, I believe, that he was to marry her as soon as he could induce his wife (who was quite ignorant of this affair) to divorce him. But when this was at last arranged, Sir Eustace found that owing to his extreme financial stringency, it was imperative that he should marry money instead.
“The lady was naturally very disappointed, but knowing that Sir Eustace did not care at all for—er—was not really in love with Miss Wildman and the marriage would only be, so far as he was concerned, one of convenience, she reconciled herself to the future and, quite seeing Sir Eustace’s necessity, did not resent the introduction of Miss Wildman—whom indeed,” Mr. Chitterwick felt himself compelled to add, “she considered as quite negligible. It never occurred to her to doubt, you see, that the old arrangement would hold good, and she would still have Sir Eustace’s real love with which to content herself.
“But then something quite unforeseen happened. Sir Eustace not only fell out of love with her. He fell unmistakably in love with Mrs. Bendix. Moreover, he succeeded in making her his mistress. That was quite recently, since he began to pay his addresses to Miss Wildman. And I think Miss Dammers has given us a true picture of the results in Mrs. Bendix’s case if not in that of Sir Eustace.
“Well, you can see the position then, so far as this other lady was concerned. Sir Eustace was getting his divorce, marriage with the negligible Miss Wildman was now out of the question, but marriage with Mrs. Bendix, tortured in her conscience and seeing in divorce from her husband and marriage with Sir Eustace the only means of solving it—marriage with Mrs. Bendix, the real beloved, and even more eligible than Miss Wildman so far as the financial side was concerned, was to all appearances inevitable. I deprecate the use of hackneyed quotations as much as anybody, but really I feel that if I permit myself to add that hell has no fury like—”
“Can you prove all this, Mr. Chitterwick?” interposed Miss Dammers coolly on the hackneyed quotation.
Mr. Chitterwick started. “I—I think so,” he said, though a little dubiously.
“I’m inclined to doubt it,” observed Miss Dammers briefly.
Somewhat uncomfortable, under Miss Dammers’s sceptical eye, Mr. Chitterwick explained. “Well Sir Eustace, whose acquaintance I have been at some pains to cultivate recently …” Mr. Chitterwick shivered a little, as if the acquaintance had not been his ideal one. “Well, from a few indications that Sir Eustace has unconsciously given me … That is to say, I was questioning him at lunch today as adroitly as I could, my conviction as to the murderer’s identity having been formed at last, and he did unwittingly let fall a few trifles which …”
“I doubt it,” repeated Miss Dammers bluntly.
Mr. Chitterwick looked quite nonplussed.
Roger hurried to the rescue. “Well, shelving the matter of proof for the moment, Mr. Chitterwick, and assuming that your reconstruction of the events is just an imaginative one. You’d reached the point where marriage between Sir Eustace and Mrs. Bendix had become inevitable.”
“Yes; oh, yes,” said Mr. Chitterwick, with a grateful look towards his saviour. “And then of course, this lady formed her terrible decision and made her very clever plan. I think I’ve explained all that. Her old right of access to Sir Eustace’s rooms enabled her to type the letter on
