“Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit that she was down near Thor Bridge⁠—that was the scene of the tragedy⁠—about that hour. She couldn’t deny it, for some passing villager had seen her there.”

“That really seems final.”

“And yet, Watson⁠—and yet! This bridge⁠—a single broad span of stone with balustraded sides⁠—carries the drive over the narrowest part of a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it is called. In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead woman. Such are the main facts. But here, if I mistake not, is our client, considerably before his time.”

Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced was an unexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to both of us. He was a thin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and a twitching, hesitating manner⁠—a man whom my own professional eye would judge to be on the brink of an absolute nervous breakdown.