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Mrs Christensen. She found the body – that is to say she was the first person seen coming from the room where the body lay. She admits freely – that’s the devil of it – that she hated Crowther and her life was made unbearable by him. He came over here today to see her – we know that … Then she says that her husband was jealous of the man – and we afterwards find that to be untrue. She was hiding something – some secret that she shared with Crowther, the nature of which we do not yet know.’
    The detective paused and eyed his son. ‘So far things look very black against her,’ he went on, ‘but I swear that her cry when she realized the inference I was drawing from her words was one of
surprise
as much as of horror; and then again she sent for the child –
she
sent for it, mark you, not I – and it destroyed her only alibi.
    â€˜Then there is her husband.’ W.T. frowned as he spoke. ‘On the face of the facts – the gun being where it was and this admitted hatred – he might quite as easily have done it as his wife. Yet apart from the difficulties of time and movement I am inclined to believe his story on its own account – it sounded true.’
    Jerry nodded. ‘It did,’ he agreed. ‘He really seemed to be trying to help.’
    W.T. smiled wryly.
    â€˜That’s often a sign of guilt,’ he said. ‘When a man says he is anxious to help and tells us long yarns about other people, he’s usually hiding something. This fellow talked all about himself, though, which was odd if he was guilty.’
    â€˜Then there’s Estah,’ said Jerry.
    â€˜I know,’ said the detective. ‘There’s another problem. Estah might have killed Crowther – nothing is more likely. She hated him – she tells us he ought to be dead – she even goes so far as to say that she prayed that he might die – there is no one to prove what she was doing at the time of the murder. She even had just time after Kathreen left her to cross the upper hall to the nursery, come down the garden steps, enter the french windows and fire at the incoming Crowther, returning the way she came before Mrs Christensen hurried round the side of the house. All that is possible, I say, but on the other hand, is it probable? Why should she know the exact moment when Crowther entered the house? Her window overlooked the garden. Why should she fire the gun from the table? Whoever committed that murder must have done it on the spur of the moment; there was no time for a quarrel before the shot. On his own servant’s evidence Crowther left his house at fifteen minutes past four; five minutes later he was dead. They all know something about it, Jerry, but we’ve no more proof of the actual murder against them than we have against Kathreen or that sister of Mrs Christensen’s I spoke to, or that old rascal Clarry Gale, whose very presence is a mystery …’
    Jerry sat silent for a moment or so, then he looked up gravely.
    â€˜And the only other alternative …’ he began.
    â€˜Is Cellini,’ finished W.T. ‘We shall hear news of him soon – he’s the most likely person now; and yet,’ he added with a sudden explosive laugh – ‘and yet if he hadn’t bolted we shouldn’t have any more evidence against him than we have against any of the others.’
    Hardly had the words left his lips than the door opened to admit a man whose eyes peered at the world suspiciously from beneath bushy eyebrows. This was Evelyn Cave – one of the most useful medical men Scotland Yard possessed.
    The detective rose to meet him. The two were good friends and had been on many cases together in their time.
    â€˜Nothing new, I suppose?’ There was something approaching wistfulness in the detective’s tone.
    The doctor hesitated.
    â€˜Well,’ he said. ‘I don’t know … The