untied?'
'I don't know what you mean,' persisted Ripwell hoarsely.
Simon swung back to the bed and dropped his hands on the old man's shoulders.
'Don't worry,' he said gently. 'I'm sorry-I didn't mean to scare you. Even now, I'm not quite sure what I do mean. But I'll look after things. And I'll be right back.'
He pressed Ripwell quietly back on the pillows and went out quickly, making for the stairs with an exuberant stride that almost bowled Martin Irelock off the landing.
'What's the excitement?' demanded the secretary.
'I've got some more ideas.' Simon kept hold of the arm which he had clutched to save Irelock from taking the worst of the spill. 'Are you busy?'
'No-I was just making sure that your room's all right.'
'Then come downstairs again. I want to talk to you.'
He did not release the arm until they were downstairs in the living-room. The french casement was ajar, the half-drawn curtains stirring in the draught. Simon took out his cigarette-case.
'Where's Teal?'
'I don't know. Oldwood's man just arrived-I expect he's showing him round.'
The Saint put a cigarette between his lips and took a match from the ash-stand, stroking it alight with his thumbnail.
'I've remembered something that may interest you,' he said. 'An interesting scientific fact. If you have a sample of fresh blood, it's possible to analyse its type and get an exact mathematical ratio of probabilities that it came from some particular person.'
Irelock blinked.
'Is it really? That's interesting.'
'I said it was interesting. How does it appeal to you?'
The secretary picked up the whisky decanter mechanically, and poured splashes into the three glasses on the tray. All the splashes did not go into the glasses.
'I don't know-why should it appeal to me particularly?'
'Because,' answered the Saint deliberately, 'I've an idea that if I asked Teal to have the blood on Ken's handkerchief analysed, and then we took a sample of your blood from that graze on your arm, we'd find that the odds were that it was your blood!'
'What do you-----'
'What do I mean? I'm always hearing that question. I mean that I told you and Teal just now that I'd got a fact, and this is it. There was only one shot fired in the front of the house. It scratched your wrist-low down. This handkerchief was in Kenneth's breast pocket. I noticed it. While it's possible that you may have gone out of the door with your hands shoulder high, it's damned unlikely; and therefore I didn't quite see how a bullet that passed you about the level of your hips could have hit Ken in the chest, unless the warrior who fired it was lying at your feet- which again is unlikely.'
Irelock's knuckles showed white where he gripped his glass, and for a second or two he made no reply. Then, with an imperceptible shrug, he looked back at the Saint, tight-lipped.
'All right,' he said, with a nod of grim resignation. 'You've seen through it. I'm afraid I should make a rotten criminal. It was my blood.'
'How come?'
Irelock grimaced ruefully.
'Teal suspected it.'
'You mean to tell me that Ken ran away?'
'Yes.'
Simon drew smoke from his cigarette and trickled it through his nostrils.
'Go on.'
'That's about all I know. I don't know why. I could see a silhouette of the car against the headlights when they were switched on, and there was only one man in it. I found the handkerchief while I was pretending to help you to look for him, and I wiped it on my arm and dropped it back on the drive. I suppose it was a silly thing to do, but the only thing I could think of was how to try and cover him up-to make it look as if he hadn't run away.'
There was no doubt that he was speaking the truth, but Simon drove on at him relentlessly.
'Why should you think he wanted covering up?' 'Why else should he want to run away? Besides, you must have seen that there was something on his mind all the evening-I saw you looking at him. I don't know what it was. But he's always been wild. I've tried to help him. Lord Ripwell would probably have disinherited him more than once if I hadn't been able to get him out of some of his scrapes.' 'Such as?'
'Oh, the usual wild things that a fellow like that does. He gambles. And he drinks too much.'
'Gets obstreperous when he's tight, does he?' 'Yes. You wouldn't think it of him, but he does. When he's drunk he'd pick a fight with anybody, but when he's sober he'd run away from a mouse.'
'Could he have killed anyone when he was drunk?' Irelock stared at him with horror. 'Good Lord-you don't think that?'
