“It seems to me then,” she said at last, “that Austin’s suggestion must be the truth—that the murderer forged the notes purporting to be from me, and which brought Austin to the Abbey that night, that he waited for Austin’s arrival at the Old Ferry, that either he had an accomplice there or he himself was disguised as Mrs. Franklyn’s servant, that on Austin’s leaving for the Abbey he made himself up to look like Austin, that he rowed to the boathouse, committed the murder, and returned the boat to the Old Ferry before Austin got back. What do you think, Jimmy?”
“It seems a possible defence.”
“It seems more than that; it seems to be what happened. If so, let us consider what that teaches us about the murderer. Several things, I think. Tell me if I go wrong. Firstly, he must have had a strong motive for Sir William’s death. Secondly, he must have known all about the family—Sir William’s habits, the lie of Luce Manor, the household arrangements, and that sort of thing. Thirdly, he must have been acquainted with Austin, and his house and habits, and fourthly, he must not only have been aware of my existence and friendship with Austin, but he must have had my handwriting to copy. Surely there can’t be many persons in the world to whom all these conditions apply?”
“One would say not,” Daunt returned slowly. “It’s very unfortunate, of course, but you must see how the prosecution will use all these points you bring up—every one of them can be turned against Austin.”
“I know, but that’s only wasting time. The fact that Austin’s innocence rules him out surely makes the search for the real murderer easier?”
“Why, that is so, I suppose.” Daunt tried to make his voice cheery and sanguine.
“Very well. I came to that conclusion days ago. Now Jimmy, it’s a horrible thing to say, but who is the only other person we know of that fits the conditions?”
Daunt looked up swiftly. It was suddenly evident to him that Lois was speaking with a more direct object than he had thought.
“I don’t know, Lois,” he answered. “Who?”
“Who but the cousin—Mr. Cosgrove Ponson?”
“Good Heavens! That never occurred to me. But does he fill the bill?”
“I have thought so for some time, but it’s a matter for you to find out. But just consider. Mr. Cosgrove benefits by the will—Austin told me so. He knew Sir William and all about Luce Manor; he knew Austin and all about him; he was like Austin in appearance; and lastly he knew me—he has dined here with Austin.”
“Your handwriting?”
“I wrote to thank him for sending me the name of an English pension at Cannes—a friend of mine wanted to know.”
“When was that?”
“About two months ago.”
“Seems rather a long time. And when did he dine?”
“About a week before that. I happened to mention about the pension, and he said he had some addresses and would look them up.”
“And what kind of man is he personally?”
Lois did not reply for some moments.
“That’s hardly a fair question,” she said at last. “I have to admit taking a dislike to him. But it’s not a question of my likes or dislikes. I think it is essential that you should find out something about him. Find out where he was on that evening.”
Daunt smoked in silence. He was thinking that if Austin were out of the way as well as Sir William, Cosgrove’s gains would not improbably be considerably increased. There might be something in this idea of Lois’s after all. A few inquiries would do no harm at any rate.
“Well,” he said at last, “I’ll do as you say. I’ll find out something about him.”
They continued the discussion, and it was arranged that as soon as any information was forthcoming, Lois would go to town, and they would have another talk.
As Sir William Ponson’s will was to be one of the factors in the Crown case, Daunt had no difficulty in obtaining a copy. That, and a few judicious inquiries convinced him of the importance of Lois’s suggestion. There seemed no question that Cosgrove’s motive for the deed was at least as strong as Austin’s.
For some time Daunt puzzled over the best way to get hold of his information. Then it occurred to him that so wide-awake an official as an Inspector of Scotland Yard would certainly have foreseen and considered all that he and Lois had discussed. As Cosgrove had not been arrested, there must be some flaw in the case he was trying to make. He decided to see Tanner once more, in the hope of gaining some information.
With a man like Tanner there was nothing to be gained by any but the most direct methods. Daunt could ask for what he wanted, and either get it or be refused, but he felt he could not obtain it by a trick. To try his luck he called at the Yard and inquired for the Inspector.
“I want to get some information, Mr. Tanner,” he said, when they had conversed for a few moments. “I’m going to ask you for it in confidence, but you may not consider it proper to give it to me, and if so, there is of course no more to be said. It’s not directly about the case.”
“What is it, sir?”
“It’s this. In going into this matter it has struck me that the nephew, Cosgrove Ponson, had as much to gain by his uncle’s death as the accused. It is obvious that that must have struck you also. I wondered if you would tell me why you acquitted him in your mind?”
“Now don’t you get astray on that notion, Mr. Daunt. It won’t wash. I went into that, and I may tell you for your private information Cosgrove is as innocent as you are.”
“So I gathered from your action, in the matter, but if you could
