Alec snorted. “Foolish! That’s putting it mildly.”
“Don’t be so harsh with me, Alec,” Roger pleaded. “I think I’m being rather brilliant.”
“You always were a chap to let things run away with you,” Alec grunted. “Just because a couple of people act a little queerly and a couple more don’t look as mournful as you think they ought, you dash off and rake up a little murder all to yourself. Going to tell the inspector about this wonderful idea of yours?”
“No, I’m not,” said Roger with decision. “This is my little murder, as you’re good enough to call it, and I’m not going to be done out of it. When I’ve got as far as I can, then I’ll think about telling the police or not.”
“Well, thank goodness you’re not going to make a fool of yourself to that extent,” said Alec with relief.
“You wait, Alexander,” Roger admonished. “You may make a mock of me now, if you like—”
“Thanks!” Alec put in gratefully.
“—but if my luck holds, I’m going to make you sit up and take notice.”
“Then perhaps you’ll begin by explaining how this excellent murderer of yours managed to get away from the room and leave everything locked on the inside behind him,” said Alec sarcastically. “He didn’t happen to be a magician in a small way, did he? Then you could let him out through the keyhole, you know.”
Roger shook his head sadly. “My dear but simple-minded Alexander, I can give you a perfectly reasonable explanation of how that murder might have been committed last night, and yet leave all these doors and windows of yours securely fastened on the inside this morning.”
“Oh, you can, can you?” said Alec derisively. “Well, let’s have it.”
“Certainly. The murderer was still inside when we broke in, concealed somewhere where nobody thought of looking.”
Alec started. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Of course we never searched the place. So you think he was really there the whole time?”
“On the contrary,” Roger smiled gently, “I know he wasn’t, for the simple reason that there was no place for him to hide in. But you asked for an explanation, and I gave you one.”
Alec snorted again, but with rather less confidence this time. Roger’s glib smoothing away of the impossible had been a little unexpected. He tried a new tack.
“Well, what about motive?” he asked. “You can’t have a murder without motive, you know. What on earth could have been the motive for murdering poor old Stanworth?”
“Robbery!” returned Roger promptly. “That’s one of the things that put me on the idea of murder. That safe’s been opened, or I’m a Dutchman. You remember what I said about the keys. I shouldn’t be surprised if Stanworth kept a large sum of money and other negotiable valuables in there. That’s what the murderer was after. And so you’ll see, when the safe is opened this afternoon.”
Alec grunted. It was clear that, if not convinced, he was at any rate impressed. Roger was so specious and so obviously sure himself of being on the right track, that even a greater sceptic than Alec might have been forgiven for beginning to doubt the meaning of apparently plain facts.
“Hullo!” said Roger suddenly. “Isn’t that the lunch bell? We’d better nip in and wash. Not a word of this to anyone, of course.”
They rose and began to saunter towards the house. Suddenly Alec stopped and smote his companion on the shoulder.
“Idiots!” he exclaimed. “Both of us! We’d forgotten all about the confession. At any rate, you can’t get away from that.”
“Ah, yes,” said Roger thoughtfully. “There’s that confession, isn’t there? But no; I hadn’t forgotten that by any means, Alexander.”
IX
Mr. Sheringham Sees Visions
They entered the house by the front door, which always stood open whenever a party was in progress. The unspoken thought was in the minds of both that they preferred not to pass through the library. Alec hurried upstairs at once. Roger, noticing that the butler was in the act of sorting the second post and arranging it upon the hall table, lingered to see if there was a letter for him.
The butler, observing his action, shook his head. “Nothing for you, sir. Very small post, indeed.” He glanced through the letters he still held in his hand. “Major Jefferson, Miss Shannon, Mrs. Plant. No, sir. Nothing else.”
“Thank you, Graves,” said Roger, and followed in Alec’s wake.
Lunch was a silent meal, and the atmosphere was not a little constrained. Nobody liked to mention the subject which was uppermost in the minds of all; and to speak of anything else seemed out of place. What little conversation there was concerned only the questions of packing and trains. Mrs. Plant, who appeared a little late for the meal but seemed altogether to have regained her mental poise after her strange behaviour in the morning, was to leave a little after five. This would give her time, she explained, to wait for the safe to be opened so that she could recover her jewels. Roger, pondering furiously over the matter-of-fact air with which she made this statement and trying to reconcile it with the conclusions at which he had already arrived regarding her, was forced to admit himself completely at sea again, in this respect at any rate.
And this was not the only thing
