The man Peters had been in and out of the room and, as he reappeared, Richard said, “You know Miss Prall, Peters. You know how carelessly she speaks of serious things?” “Yes, sir, I do. But you needn’t tell me them little chickens ever had any hand in the murderin’! Why, they just couldn’t have had.” “Anything is possible, Peters,” said Bates, sternly. “And I don’t want you to make those definite statements. They mean nothing, save that such is your opinion.” “But my opinions is pretty sound ones, Mr Bates, an’ founded on a lot of personal knowledge of Sir Herbert,—rest his soul. And I tell you, gentlemen, that that deed could never ha’ been done by young girls,—neither the little ladies that Sir Herbert was fond of kitin’ round with nor yet the girls employed in this house. No, sir, that fearful crime was planned and carried out by older heads than theirs. Men or women might ‘a’ done it,—but never little half-baked flappers like them you’re suspectin’.” “There’s sense in that,” mused Gibbs, and Bates flared out: “I suppose that leads you more certainly to suspicion of my aunt. But you’re wrong, Gibbs, all wrong! Now, look here, suppose, just for a moment, there had been no written message,—which way would you look then?” “Toward some business complications,” said Gibbs, promptly. “You see, Sir Herbert Binney was putting over an awful big deal in that matter of his Bun business. He had dickered with several big bakery companies and he was a shrewd man at a bargain.” “And he was in bad with some of the men he was bargaining with,” vouchsafed Peters, who was a privileged participant in the conversation, because Gibbs hoped by this means to learn something from the valet. “Who, for instance?” demanded Bates. “Graham, of the Popular Patisserie concern; Vail, here in the house, and Crippen of Crippen’s Cakes.” “Nothing doing,” returned Gibbs, shortly. “I’ve dug into all those issues. He was off with the Patisserie people weeks ago. He finished discussion with the Vail company some days since, and the only one pending was the Crippen bunch.” “Yes, and my aunt says he expected to see Crippen the night he was killed.” “Well, he didn’t,” returned Gibbs. “I’ve looked up Crippen’s alibi and it’s gilt-edged. Vail was in the elevator with Bob Moore at the time of the murder,—that lets him out and the Patisseries are back numbers. I mean they got through with Binney’s Buns as a working proposition, long ago.” “They might have come back to it,” suggested Bates. “Sure they might,—so might Crippen or Vail. But they didn’t,—or if they did, we’ve no tiniest speck of evidence of it. If you can get any, go ahead. You don’t know of anything against the Bakery men, do you, Peters?” “No, sir. But Mr Crippen and Mr Vail have both been here——” “Here! In Sir Herbert’s rooms?” cried Bates. “What for?”