“I thought you’d be on to this, don’t you know?” Lomas said. “It’s a pretty case. Wealthy old gentleman, impecunious heirs, sudden death. That’s natural enough. But impecunious heirs don’t stab much--not in England.” “Yes. You’re intelligent, Lomas. But you’re prejudiced. You always believe in the obvious.” “The obvious is what happens.” “Oh, Peter! If it did, we wouldn’t want a Criminal Investigation Department. Well, now, this is what I’ve got. Check it, please. Geoffrey quarrelled with the old man--went away, commenced artist, and married an Italian girl--at her wish tried to make it up with the old man--old man was willing, called on Geoffrey twice, and after the second visit Geoffrey found him stabbed and dead just outside.” “That’s all right,” Lomas nodded. “An odd thing is, just before the murder the old man remade his will in favour of Geoffrey. When they quarrelled, he had a will drawn up which left everything to the nephew Herbert. Under this last will Herbert gets twenty thousand, and all the rest goes to Geoffrey. It was only signed on the morning of the murder.” “There’s a deuce of a lot of unknown quantities in this equation,” Reggie said. “Silly, futile things facts are. This set will do for anything you please. As soon as he knew the will was in his favour, Geoffrey does the old man in. Or when he heard there was a new will cutting him out, Herbert sees red and knifes the old man. By the way, Lomas, I suppose the old boy was stabbed?” “What? Oh, damme, don’t be clever. He was stabbed all right. The divisional surgeon and his own doctor, Newton, they both went over the body. Stabbed in the throat. We’ve got the weapon, too. Sort of stiletto or dagger.” Reggie cocked an eye at the head of the Criminal Investigation Department. “Sounds Italian,” he murmured. “It is Italian.” “And Geoffrey married an Italian wife.” “An Italian singer--a singer at cafes. That’s the kind she was. Yes, that’s the proposition.” “Lomas, old thing, you ought to write melodramas. The diabolical Italian singer, she leapt out of the dark, she pulled a d--dagger from her stocking, and she fell upon the dear, kind old gentleman and left him weltering in his gore. Then she put the dagger down, so the gifted detective could find it, and went back to dinner.” “It is silly, isn’t it?” Lomas grinned. “But there it is, don’t you know?” “I don’t know,” said Reggie Fortune.” I don’t know anything. I was born of poor common-sensible parents, and this is all crazy. I suppose he really was stabbed?” “You will harp on that. Go and look at him in the morning. Hang it, man, the family doctor and the divisional surgeon they ought to know if there’s a hole in him or not.” “But why--why? Geoffrey--the Italian wife--they were on velvet anyway. The disappointed nephew--well, I suppose he still had his allowance while the old man lived. Do you know anything about Nephew Herbert?”