“Yes,” Alec said, a little reluctantly. “I see that. I won’t make a fuss about anything unnecessarily. But we must go on working together.”
“Right!” Roger answered promptly. “That’s a bargain, then. Well, look here, there’s one thing we ought to have done earlier, but it quite slipped my memory. We must have a look for that possible second cartridge case. Personally I don’t believe there is one; I think there was one shot fired from each revolver. But it’s a possibility, and we ought not to overlook it.”
“Rather a tall order, isn’t it? It might be anywhere in the whole grounds.”
“Yes, but there’s only one place that it’s any use to search—the library. If we can’t find it there, we’ll give it up.”
“Very well.”
“Oh, Alexander,” Roger observed unhappily, as they strolled back to the library. “Alexander, we’re very terribly handicapped in this little problem, as Holmes would call it.”
“In what way particularly?”
“Not knowing the motive for the murder. If we could only get at that, it would simplify matters tremendously. Why, I dare say we could put our hands on the criminal at once. That’s the way all these murder cases are solved, both in real life and in fiction. Establish your motive, and work back from that. We’re groping utterly in the dark, you see, till we’ve found that.”
“And you haven’t any idea of it at all? Not even a guess?”
“Not a one. Or, rather, too many. It’s impossible to say with a man like Stanworth. After all, what do we know about him, beyond that he was a cheery old gentleman and kept an excellent cellar? Nothing! He might have been a lady-killer, and it may be a case of the jealous husband, with Lady Stanworth and Jefferson in the know after it had happened, and hushing it up for the sake of the name.”
“I say, that’s a good idea! Do you really think it was that? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
“It’s possible, but I shouldn’t say it was likely. He was rather too old to be acting as Lothario, wasn’t he? Or again it might have been somebody whom he ruined in business (I shouldn’t say his methods were any too scrupulous) and a somewhat drastic revenge, with the other two also knowing what had happened and keeping quiet about it for reasons that we don’t know anything about. But what’s the use? There are a hundred theories, all equally possible and plausible, to fit the very meagre array of facts that we’ve got in our possession.”
“We are in a bit of a fog, yes,” Alec agreed as they entered the library.
“But there’s rather more light I think, already, than an hour or two ago,” Roger replied cheerfully. “No, when all’s said and done, we haven’t done so badly as yet, what with luck and certain other things which modesty forbids me to mention. And now for this cartridge case, and let’s pray that we shan’t be interrupted.”
For some minutes they searched diligently in silence. Then Alec scrambled up from his knees beside the little typist’s table and inspected his hands ruefully.
“No sign of it,” he said, “and I’m in a filthy mess. I don’t think it can be in here, do you?”
Roger was investigating the cushions of the big settee.
“Afraid not,” he replied. “I hardly expected it, but—Hullo, what’s this?”
He drew out a small piece of white material from between two of the loose cushions and inspected it with interest.
Alec strolled across the room and joined him. “It looks like a woman’s handkerchief,” he said carefully.
“More than that, Alexander; it is a woman’s handkerchief. Now what on earth is a woman’s handkerchief doing in Stanworth’s library?”
“I expect she left it here,” Alec remarked wisely.
“Alec, this is positive genius! I see it all now. She must have left it here. And there was I thinking that she’d sent it by post, with special instructions for it to be placed between those cushions in case she ever wanted to find it there!”
“You are funny, aren’t you?” Alec growled wearily.
“Occasionally,” Roger admitted modestly, “quite. But reverting to the handkerchief, I wonder whether this is going to prove rather important. What do you think?”
“How could it?”
“I’m not quite sure yet, but I have a sort of feeling. It all depends on several things. Whose handkerchief it is, for instance, and when this settee was tidied up last, and when the owner of the handkerchief admits she was in here last, and—Oh, quite a large number of things.” He sniffed at the handkerchief delicately. “H’m! I seem to know that scent, at all events.”
“You do?” Alec asked eagerly. “Who uses it?”
“That unfortunately I don’t appear to remember for the moment,” Roger confessed reluctantly. “Still, we ought to be able to find that out with a few discreet inquiries.”
He put the handkerchief carefully in his breast pocket, crumpling it into a small ball so as to retain as much of the scent as possible.
“But I think the first thing to do,” he continued, when it was safely bestowed, “is to examine this settee rather more minutely. You never know what you’re going to find, apparently.”
Without disturbing the cushions further, he began a careful scrutiny of the back and arms. It was not long before he found himself rewarded.
“Look!” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing at a place on the left arm. “Powder! See? Face powder, for a sovereign. Now I wonder what on earth that’s got to tell us, if we only know how to read it.”
Alec bent and examined the place. A very faint smudge of white powder stood out upon the black surface of the cloth.
“You’re sure that’s face powder?” he asked, a little incredulously. “How can you tell?”
“I can’t,” Roger
