“Well, sir, if I may say so, that’s drawing conclusions. I don’t understand Parker would go as far as that.” “Good Gad!” said Lomas. “Where the devil is Parker?” “Keeping Mr. Sandford under observation, sir, according to instructions. Beg your pardon, sir. I’ve heard his story, and I quite agree it all happened like that. But you haven’t heard mine.” Lomas looked round him. The house was too near. “We’ll walk on the lawn,” he announced. “Now then. Parker says the two men quarrelled on the bridge over the lake and Kimball was thrown in, and as he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’ And you say that isn’t murder.” “Did Serjeant Parker say ‘thrown in’?” said Hall, with surprise in his face and his voice. “I believe he didn’t,” said Lomas slowly. “No. He said Kimball was thrown off, and as he fell in he called out.” “That’s right, sir,” said Hall heartily. “But I reckon there is more to it than that. When Mr. Kimball came out this morning I was waiting for him in the park. It was rather touch and go, because he had some men at work above the lake. He went down that way to the station. As he was crossing the bridge he tried the rails. It’s very odd, sir, but a bit of the bar--it’s a sort of rustic stuff--was that loose it came off in his hand. He put it back and went on. He met Mr. Sandford in the road and turned back with him. I had to get out of the way quick. I judged they were coming back to the house, so I did a run and dropped over the fence, and was away on the other side of the lake. Then I went into the rhododendrons and waited for them to pass. You see, sir, Parker had to keep well out of sight behind, and I was as near as makes no matter. Well, if you’ll believe me, it was Mr. Kimball made the quarrel, and all in a minute he made it. One minute they were walking quite friendly, the next he whips round on Mr. Sandford and he called him a bad name. I couldn’t hear all, he was talking so quick, but there was ugly words in it. Then he made to strike Mr. Sandford, and Mr. Sandford closed and chucked him back, and into the water he went just where that same rail that he looked at was loose. But it’s true enough as he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’” “Well, well. So he didn’t bring it off after all,” said Reggie. “We trumped his last card.” “Sir?” said the detective. “You were the trump,” said Reggie. “Oh, my aunt, I feel much better! I wonder if there’s any lunch in these parts? What about it, Lomas, old thing?” “I’m damned if I understand,” said Lomas. “I want Sandford. Let’s go up to the house.” They found Sandford sitting in an easy-chair in the dead man’s library. He was reading; to Reggie’s ineffable admiration he was reading a book by Mr. Sidney Webb on the history of trade unions. Serjeant Parker, the detective, made himself uncomfortable at the table and pored over his notebook.