to the house. She’s got a perfectly good story if anyone stops her—the one she told eventually. But she arrived unmolested on the terrace just after the clock had struck two.
“Now, I may say to begin with that she was seen coming in. My men saw her, but they had orders to stop nobody coming in—only going out. I wanted, you see, to find out as much as possible. Miss Wade arrives on the terrace, and at that minute a parcel falls at her feet and she picks it up. A man comes down the ivy and she starts to run. What happens next? The struggle—and presently the revolver shots. What will everyone do? Rush to the scene of the fight. And Miss Loraine Wade could have left the grounds and driven off with the formula safely in her possession.
“But things don’t happen quite like that. Miss Wade runs straight into my arms. And at that moment the game changes. It’s no longer attack but defence. Miss Wade tells her story. It is perfectly true and perfectly sensible.
“And now we come to Mr. Thesiger. One thing struck me at once. The bullet wound alone couldn’t have caused him to faint. Either he had fallen and hit his head—or—well, he hadn’t fainted at all. Later we had Miss St. Maur’s story. It agreed perfectly with Mr. Thesiger’s—there was only one suggestive point. Miss St. Maur said that after the lights were turned out and Mr. Thesiger went over to the window, he was so still that she thought he must have left the room and gone outside. Now, if anyone is in the room, you can hardly help hearing their breathing if you are listening for it. Supposing, then, that Mr. Thesiger had gone outside. Where next? Up the ivy to Mr. O’Rourke’s room— Mr. O’Rourke’s whisky and soda having been doped the night before. He gets the papers, throws them down to the girl, climbs down the ivy again, and—starts the fight. That’s easy enough when you come to think of it. Knock the tables down, stagger about, speak in your own voice and then in a hoarse half-whisper. And then, the final touch, the two revolver shots. His own Colt