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remind you.
    “Well, that's our theory. And if it's the right one, we've got about as much chance of laying our hands on the murderer as - as - - ” Chief Inspector Moresby cast about for something really scathing.
    “As we have,” suggested Roger.

The Poisoned Chocolates Case

CHAPTER IV
    THE Circle sat on for some time after Moresby had gone. There was a lot to discuss, and everybody had views to put forward, suggestions to make, and theories to advance.
    One thing emerged with singular unanimity: the police had been working on the wrong lines. Their theory must be mistaken. This was not a casual murder by a chance lunatic. Somebody very definite had gone methodically about the business of helping Sir Eustace out of the world, and that somebody had behind him an equally definite motive. Like almost all murders, in fact, it was a matter of cherchez le motif.
    On the exposition and discussion of theories Roger kept a firmly quelling hand. The whole object of the experiment, as he pointed out more than once, was that everybody should work independently, without bias from any other brain, form his or her own theory, and set about proving it in his or her own way.
    “But oughtn't we to pool our facts, Sheringham?” boomed Sir Charles. “I should suggest that though we pursue our investigations independently, any new facts we discover should be placed at once at the disposal of all. The exercise should be a mental one, not a competition in routine detection.”
    “There's a lot to be said for that view, Sir Charles,” Roger agreed. “In fact, I've thought it over very carefully. But on the whole I think it will be better if we keep any new facts to ourselves after this evening. You see, we're already in possession of all the facts that the police have discovered, and anything else we may come across isn't likely to be so much a definite pointer to the murderer as some little thing, quite insignificant in itself, to support a particular theory.”
    Sir Charles grunted, obviously unconvinced.
    “I'm quite willing to have it put to the vote,” Roger said handsomely.
    A vote was taken. Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder - Flemming voted for all facts being disclosed: Mr. Bradley, Alicia Dammers, Mr. Chitterwick (the last after considerable hesitation) and Roger voted against.
    “We retain our own facts,” Roger said, and made a mental note of who had voted for each. He was inclined to guess that the voting indicated pretty correctly who was going to be content with general theorising, and who was ready to enter so far into the spirit of the game as to go out and work for it. Or it might simply show who already had a theory and who had not.
    Sir Charles accepted the result with resignation. “We start equal as from now, then,” he announced.
    “As from the moment we leave this room,” amended Morton Harrogate Bradley, rearranging the set of his tie. “But I agree so far with Sir Charles's proposition as to think that any one who can at this moment add anything to the Chief Inspector's statement should do so.”
    “But can any one?” asked Mrs. Fielder - Flemming.
    “ Sir Charles knows Mr. and Mrs. Bendix,” Alicia Dammers pointed out impartially. “And Sir Eustace. And I know Sir Eustace too, of course.”
    Roger smiled. This statement was a characteristic meiosis on the part of Miss Dammers. Everybody knew that Miss Dammers had been the only woman (so far as rumour recorded) who had ever turned the tables on Sir Eustace Pennefather. Sir Eustace had taken it into his head to add the scalp of an intellectual woman to those other rather unintellectual ones which already dangled at his belt. Alicia Dammers, with her good looks, her tall, slim figure, and her irreproachable sartorial taste, had satisfied his very fastidious requirements so far as feminine appearance was concerned. He had laid himself out to fascinate.
    The results had been watched by the large circle of Miss Dammers's friends with considerable joy. Miss