“Probably it isn’t. But it’s interesting. I suppose you must be right. I can’t see any other explanation, I’m bound to say. But it must have been a very curiously shaped object, to leave those marks. Or could it have been a number of things? And why should the dust have been scraped away like that? Something must have been drawn across the surface; something flat and smooth and fairly heavy.” He meditated for a moment. “It’s funny.”
Alec stepped back from the fender. “Well, we don’t seem to be progressing much, do we?” he remarked. “Let’s try somewhere else, Sherlock.”
He wandered aimlessly over towards the French windows and stood looking out into the garden.
A sharp exclamation from Roger caused him to wheel round suddenly. The latter had descended from his chair, and was now standing on the hearthrug and looking with interest at something he held in his hand.
“Here!” he said, holding out his palm, in which a small blue object was lying. “Come and look at this. I stepped on it just now as I got down from the chair. It was on the rug. What do you think of it?”
Alec took the object, which proved to be a small piece of broken blue china, and turned it over carefully.
“Why, this is a bit of that other vase!” he said sagely.
“Excellent, Alexander Watson. It is.”
Alec scrutinised the fragment more closely. “It must have got broken,” he announced profoundly.
“Brilliant! Your deductive powers are in wonderful form this morning, Alec,” Roger smiled. Then his face became more grave. “But seriously, this is really rather perplexing. You see what must have happened, of course. The vase got broken where it stood. In view of this bit, that’s the only possible explanation for those marks on the chimneypiece. They must have been caused by the broken pieces. And that broad patch was made by someone sweeping the pieces off the shelf—the same person, presumably, as picked up the larger bits round that ring.”
He paused and looked at Alec inquiringly.
“Well?” said that worthy.
“Well, don’t you see the difficulty? Vases don’t suddenly break where they stand. They fall and smash on the ground or something like that. This one calmly fell to pieces in its place, as far as I can see. Dash it all, it isn’t natural!—And that’s about the third unnatural thing we’ve had already,” he added in tones of mingled triumph and resentment.
Alec pressed the tobacco carefully down in his pipe and struck a match. “Aren’t you going the long way round again?” he asked slowly. “Surely there’s an obvious explanation. Someone knocked the vase over on its side and it broke on the shelf. I can’t see anything wrong with that.”
“I can,” said Roger quickly. “Two things. In the first place, those vases were far too thick to break like that simply through being knocked over on a wooden surface. In the second, even if it had been, you’d get a smooth, elliptical mark in the dust where it fell; and there isn’t one. No, there’s only one possible reason for it to break as it did, as far as I can make out.”
“And what’s that, Sherlock?”
“That it had been struck by something—and struck so hard and cleanly that it simply smashed where it stood and was not knocked into the hearth. What do you think of that?”
“It seems reasonable enough,” Alec conceded after consideration.
“You’re not very enthusiastic, are you? It’s so jolly eminently reasonable that it must be right. Now, then, the next question is—who or what hit it like that?”
“I say, do you think this is going to lead anywhere?” Alec asked suddenly. “Aren’t we wasting time over this rotten vase? I don’t see what it can have to do with what we’re looking for. Not that I have the least idea what that is, in any case,” he added candidly.
“You don’t seem to have taken to my vase, Alec. It’s a pity, because I’m getting more and more fond of it every minute. Anyhow, I’m going to put in one or two minutes’ really hard thinking about it; so if you’d like to wander out into the garden and have a chat with William, don’t let me keep you.”
Alec had strolled over to the windows again. For some reason he seemed somewhat anxious to keep the garden under observation as far as possible.
“Oh, I won’t interrupt you,” he was beginning carelessly, when at the same moment the reason appeared in sight, walking slowly on to the lawn from the direction of the rose garden. “Well, as a matter of fact, perhaps I will wander out for a bit,” he emended hurriedly. “Won’t stay away long, in case anything else crops up.” And he made a hasty exit.
Roger, following with his eyes the beeline his newly appointed assistant was taking, smiled slightly and resumed his labours.
Alec did not waste time. There was a question which had been worrying him horribly during the last couple of hours, and he wanted an answer to it, and wanted it quickly.
“Barbara,” he said abruptly, as soon as he came abreast of her, “you know what you told me this morning. Before breakfast. It hadn’t anything to do with what’s happened here, had it?”
Barbara blushed painfully. Then as suddenly she paled.
“You mean—about Mr. Stanworth’s death?” she asked steadily, looking him full in the eyes.
Alec nodded.
“No, it hadn’t. That was only a—a horrible coincidence.” She paused. “Why?” she asked suddenly.
Alec looked supremely uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know. You see, you said something about—well, about a horrible thing that had happened. And then half an hour later, when we knew that—I mean, I couldn’t help wondering just for the moment whether—” He floundered into silence.
“It’s all right, Alec,” said Barbara gently. “It was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make. As I said, that was only a dreadful coincidence.”
“And aren’t you going to change your mind about what you said this
