Sir Clinton made no defence. Instead, he turned Wendover’s vehemence into another channel. “It’s easy to say ‘Arrest somebody!’ Suppose you were in my shoes, Squire, and you wanted to be absolutely on the safe side; whom would you arrest at this very moment?” Under the spur of the direct question, Wendover had a flash of illumination. “Ernest Shandon,” he said. “I’ve just been thinking over things, and I’ve seen one or two points in a fresh light. Who was it opened the window last night and so made it possible for the murderer to shoot into the room? Ernest Shandon! Who was out of the room when the shot was fired? Ernest Shandon! Where was he? In the winter-garden, which has a door opening close to the bank of rhododendrons in which the murderer hid himself. Who had access to that stock of curare in the museum? Ernest Shandon!” Sir Clinton failed to repress a smile, though he did his best. “And who was attacked himself, in the Maze? Ernest Shandon! And who was sitting with a nail in his boot on the public highway that afternoon when his brothers were killed? Ernest Shandon! Let’s complete the tale, you know, before we begin to talk about arrests. The real truth of the matter is that Ernest Shandon has annoyed you by his cowardice and his general selfishness, and, therefore, you think he’d be all the better for a hanging. You’re beginning to see red here, just as you saw red in Ardsley’s case.” Wendover sullenly admitted his blunder. “But there’s another person who ought to be under observation—young Hawkhurst,” he continued. “That young beggar seems to me hardly sane at times. Look at him this morning! That cerebro-spinal affair has affected him far more than I supposed . . .” He broke off, struck by a fresh idea. “Is he the person you have your eye on, Clinton? I never thought of that! Now that might account for the thing that’s been puzzling me—the damned aimlessness of all the Whistlefield affair. It’s just the sort of thing a lunatic would do. And they say that in a sleepy sickness case, if it turns to homicidal mania, the creature may go for the nearest relations. Just what’s happened at Whistlefield! And it was he who put on the loud-speaker last night and so covered any noise he might have made in getting into position outside the window. I hadn’t thought of that before. And it was his air-gun that I found in the rhododendrons.” This time, Sir Clinton did not smile. “I don’t mind admitting to you, Squire, that young Hawkhurst is one of my difficulties.” Wendover returned to his original charge. “Well, I can’t understand what you’re driving at, Clinton. On the face of things, it seems to me that you’ve gambled away that poor girl’s life merely to get a case that you can prove; and now you’re no nearer it than you were before.” Sir Clinton’s face grew very grave.