“Mind you, I think he’s right. I think it’s what any of us would do. I shan’t give it away, of course, but somehow there are one or two little things which make me think that Mark really did shoot his brother⁠—I mean other than accidentally.”

“Murdered him?”

“Well, manslaughtered him, anyway. I may be wrong. Anyway, it’s not my business.”

“But why do you think so? Because of the keys?”

“Oh, the keys are a washout. Still, it was a brilliant idea of mine, wasn’t it? And it would have been rather a score for me if they had all been outside.”

He had finished his writing, and now passed the paper over to Bill. In the clear moonlight the carefully printed letters could easily be read: