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hurried back to the morning-room, leaving her staring after him.
    â€˜Of course,’ W.T. was saying, as Jerry re-entered the room and silently took up his old position behind the older man’s chair, ‘of course, Mr Christensen, the girl’s story bears out yours very well, but there is a matter concerning your wife that I am afraid I must ask you to discuss with me, because up to now the evidence upon it has been greatly at variance – ’
    The cripple looked at him steadily.
    â€˜Don’t hesitate to ask me anything,’ he said.
    â€˜Had you ever any cause to think that your wife was receiving attentions from Eric Crowther?’
    The cripple raised his eyes slowly and looked the detective full in the face.
    â€˜No,’ he said at last.
    W.T. hesitated a moment, and Jerry’s mind went back to Estah Phillips’ vivid story of the conversation she had overheard from the balcony. W.T. must have been thinking of it also, for he said:
    â€˜I’m sorry to have to talk like this, Mr Christensen, but didnothing the dead man ever said to you suggest that there was some sort of – well – intrigue going on?’
    The man in the invalid chair paused for a moment before replying, and an expression of loathing and contempt passed over his face.
    â€˜The dead man was the most despicable wretch on the face of this earth!’ he said. ‘Sometimes I thought he must be mad – then I forgave him a little.’
    There was silence in the room after he had spoken, and the echo of his words seemed to cling and hang about the atmosphere, although they had not been spoken in anything approaching a loud voice.
    W.T. was the first to speak after this announcement.
    â€˜I’m afraid you will have to explain, Mr Christensen,’ he said slowly.
    The cripple nodded, and his long thin fingers twisted and untwisted themselves with nervous haste.
    â€˜Eric Crowther was a coward and a bully,’ he said. ‘From the day I returned from France crippled as you see me now, he has come striding into my house as if he had a right here – insinuating her infidelity – gently at first – almost imperceptibly, then openly – bragging, gesticulating,
lying.
’
    His voice died away to a whisper, and the old detective stared at him with surprise.
    â€˜Lying?’ he murmured.
    â€˜Of course!’ The cripple’s tone was contemptuous.
    The detective spoke again.
    â€˜If you knew he was lying I don’t quite see why you put up with him,’ he said, ‘especially as you seem to have resented his intrusion.’
    â€˜I had to put up with him.’ Roger Christensen’s tone was still quiet, but the passion of resentment showed beneath the forced calm. ‘What else could I do?’ he went on. ‘He was not a man upon whom words had the least effect. He was without decency – without pride. My natural protection was the police, I suppose – I might have prosecuted him for trespass or annoyance, but I shrank from that – my wife dreaded the publicity – she hatedCrowther as much as I did, but she would never discuss him, and I never pressed her.’ He paused, and a bitter smile twisted his wide, sensitive mouth. ‘The only right way to deal with a man like that was to whip him,’ he said, ‘and you see I was incapacitated from taking that way … God! What I would have given for my old strength just for an hour!’ The last sentence burst from his lips involuntarily.
    The detective frowned.
    â€˜I must warn you you’re making some very dangerous statements, Mr Christensen,’ he said gently. ‘Do you quite realize the importance of them?’
    The man nodded.
    â€˜I said I should tell you all I knew,’ he said slowly. ‘I did not kill Crowther, but if I had I should only feel ashamed that I could not have thrashed him first. I was in the drawing-room until the shot was fired;