“Man about town--Society tame cat--usual vices, what? Plays a bit high. He’s nothing in particular.” “Don’t sound like a lurking stabber,” Reggie admitted. “People don’t do these things. That’s the trouble. Queer case.” “I suppose the old man hadn’t a lurid past?” Lomas shook his head. “Most respectable old bird.” Reggie stood up and gave himself a full glass of soda water. “The extraordinary efficiency of the assassin,” he said carefully. “Lomas, old dear, observe the extraordinary efficiency of the assassin. Mr. S. Charlecote comes out of his son’s house. A few yards from the door somebody kills him so quickly, so neatly, that he don’t make one sound. And then this extraordinarily efficient assassin leaves his dagger for you to find.” “Who says he didn’t make a sound?” “Yes. Geoffrey and his angel wife. Yes. Only them and no one else. That’s a flaw. Little essays in the obvious by S. Lomas. Well, it’s me for the corpse, then.” And so in the morning he called at the mortuary. He was slightly surprised to find the divisional surgeon and Dr. Newton waiting for him. He returned thanks. “Is there anything to which you’d like to draw my attention, gentlemen?” “It’s a plain case, to my mind,” said the divisional surgeon. “I am always glad to have a specialist’s opinion,” said Dr. Newton. “Of course, this sort of thing is rather out of my line. I confess I can hardly approach it calmly.” “Quite. Quite. Most distressin’. I suppose you knew him well, doctor?” “An old patient, Mr. Fortune. I may say an old friend.” “Ah, yes. You know the family, of course.” “They were once such an affectionate family,” said Dr. Newton. “It’s really terrible.” He sighed. He was a florid, bearded man with a sentimental expression and manner. “Poor Charlecote! He never seemed to bear up after Geoffrey broke with him. But who would have thought that strange escapade would have ended like this?” “So you think Geoffrey did the trick?” “I beg your pardon!” Dr. Newton was horrified. “You put words into my mouth, Mr. Fortune. No, no. A most invidious suggestion.” “Murder’s rather an invidious business,” said Reggie placidly. “Come, doctor, what do you think of Geoffrey?” “I have never been able to conceal from myself, Mr. Fortune, that there is an odd strain in Geoffrey, as it were something abnormal or thrawn--a certain violence of temperament.” “In the blood, perhaps.” “Perhaps. And yet there was nothing of it in his father. Or in his cousin Herbert.” “Cousin Herbert. Yes. What about Cousin Herbert?” Dr. Newton laughed. “Frankly, Mr. Fortune, you baffle me. Because there is nothing about Herbert. A very worthy young man, no doubt, but colourless, quite colourless.” Reggie nodded. “No.” Dr. Newton pursued his own train of thought. “In my own speculations on the affair--this most deplorable affair--I find myself continually confronted by an unknown quantity, a mysterious entity, Geoffrey’s Italian wife.”