He changed colour a little. “Good heavens, Evelyn!” he cried. “What a horrible question! No, there isn’t, I was quite alone. I can only say I found him as I told them; I can’t prove it.” She became suddenly thoughtful. “No, I see that,” she said; “but as long as there is nothing to seem to prove the contrary, it doesn’t matter what they think. You didn’t,” she asked the question hesitatingly, “move the cigarette box or anything, did you?” He looked at her blankly as he exclaimed, “Move the cigarette box! Evelyn, what on earth have you in your mind? Why do you ask?” “Because it was moved and very soon after Sir Roger was killed.” “How can you possibly know that?” he asked, taken aback at the quiet assertion. “I have seen it since,” she answered, a little confused; “and the marks on it make me think that it was put down on the blood, after it had stopped flowing but before it dried.” “What an extraordinary girl you are!” he said in a tone divided between admiration and amazement. “And that made you think I’d moved it? No, I didn’t touch it. I touched nothing till Birts and the doctor had come. Oh!” he cried, his face lighting up as if a sudden light had broken in upon him, “I think I understand why Birts is looking at me like that this morning. After he’d finished making his notes and all that, I asked if I couldn’t move the body into the smoking-room; it seemed so dreadful to have it lying there all day: I was afraid you would come down and see it. He was very doubtful, but I persuaded him at last to let me. And I expect that other fellow was annoyed he hadn’t seen it where I found it, and told Birts he oughtn’t to have allowed it, and Birts is working off his annoyance on me.” Evelyn had listened intently, but now spoke with impatience: “It was idiotic of you, Philip. What did it matter if I did see it?” “It had upset me,” he said simply, “coming on it suddenly in the dark: and I couldn’t bear the idea of your receiving the same sort of impression.” “It is just like you,” she said. “You never think things out. It was nice of you in a way, but the act of a——.” she stopped; then added with conviction, “an innocent man; no one else would have dared, there is that about it. Tell me,” she went on with a change of manner, “I wish you would, just what you told that inspector. I haven’t heard and I may think of something.” He at first wished to refuse, but in response to her further request, told again what he had already told Humblethorne. She listened, all her mind absorbed, trying in vain to see whether it threw any new light on the facts of which she was in possession. When he finished she stayed silent a long while, leaning forward in her chair, her head on her hands.