“As a matter of fact, I just remember now that Smith checked up on Rice this morning,” I said. “It was so much a matter of routine that I paid no particular attention to it. Rice dined at the American Ministry last night. As I remember it, he got there at nine and never left the presence of the Minister except for five minutes once to telephone. It would take anyone an hour to go from this house to the Ministry. So that leaves Rice out definitely.” “Yes,” agreed the Russian, “that leaves Mr. Rice out. And yet Mr. Rice is very anxious to accuse Mr. Thomas. Why?” “Because he doesn’t like him,” I suggested. “Because he sincerely believes Thomas did it.” “Not good enough,” said the Russian. “But let us proceed. For I have a point to make. The methodical Mr. Smith collects an excellent case against Mr. Thomas. Until my friend, the Count, suddenly appears and confesses. “Let us consider my friend, the Count. What was he doing in the house? That is no secret. To you, I can talk. You have sentiment in your soul. Your Mr. Smith has none. He has been trying to see his former wife, Mary Breese. He loves her. They have been separated by the calamitous event in Riga, plus Mrs. Breese’s interference. You can build up an excellent case against my friend, the Count. In the first place, he has already been suspected of one murder. Then, he has no love for Mrs. Breese. He has been cast out. Presumably, he took his revenge. And yet I know the man. That is not him! “But he confesses and escapes. Why? He didn’t tell me, and yet I know. While he was in this house, waiting to see Mary Breese, he stumbled upon something which led him to make his confession. Remember--he loves this girl deeply. He knows that she is suffering--a terrible shock. Suppose that he learns something that will hurt her even more terribly?” “I don’t follow,” I protested. “Let me make myself plain. Mary Breese is horrified at the murder of her mother. Naturally. It is sufficient tragedy for anyone. But if someone very close and dear to Mary Breese were the murderer the shock would be double, would it not? It would be an enormous tragedy. She might not survive it. In any case, the Count would try to shield her from the knowledge. He is chivalrous enough, foolish enough, if you will. Now--” the Russian fixed his little eyes on me--“whom is he trying to shield? Someone very dear to Mary Breese. Her brother?” “It hardly seems possible,” I said. “Granted that--for the moment. There is her father.” “Old Man Breese? Not much!” I scoffed. “But why not?” he demanded. “For one thing,” I said “because he was in the hotel with us when we got the news.” The Russian smiled and shook his head admiringly. “It would be diabolically clever--so ingenuous. Don’t you see?” I caught a curious excitement in his voice. “Behold the psychological alibi! Don’t you see it?” “I’m afraid I don’t,” I shook my head.