“The three brothers always seemed to me to be on good enough terms. I never noticed any ill-feeling amongst them. Neville was rather a bully—in his manner, I mean. He always treated one as if one were a hostile witness; but probably that was just a mannerism. Roger was hot-tempered at times. He didn’t hit it off with his nephew somehow. But as far as I saw, the feeling was all on one side. Young Hawkhurst seems a harmless boy—rather moody since he had that attack of sleepy sickness.” Sir Clinton seemed to prick up his ears at the words. “He had sleepy sickness, had he? Any ill-effects?” “Nothing that one could see, except this instability—moodiness or whatever you like to call it. Very cheery one day and rather depressed soon afterwards, I noticed at times.” Sir Clinton did not pursue the subject. “Have you heard of any ill-feeling locally?” he asked. “I mean friction with the maids, or the gardeners, or the neighbours?” Stenness racked his memory for a moment or two. “No, nothing that I can recall. There was some slight disagreement with Dr. Ardsley over fishing rights not long ago; and a few angry letters passed between him and Roger Shandon. But it wasn’t an important matter—rather a squabble, but nothing to leave real ill-feeling.” “Do you know anything about money matters? They were both well-off?” “Neville was believed to make enormous fees in some cases. Roger, I know, had plenty of money. He often sent me to cash bearer cheques on his account and some of them ran into thousands.” “And he took cash for these? Rather unusual.” “My impression was that he gambled a good deal—roulette and that sort of thing—for high stakes. I’ve often paid in large sums in notes on his behalf.” Sir Clinton seemed to make a mental note of this. “Now what about the third brother—Ernest, I think his name is?” A faint expression of contempt crossed Stenness’s face at the mention of Ernest’s name. “He’s not like his brothers.” Then the disdain of the efficient man for his inefficient fellow broke out. “He seems never to have done anything, so far as I know. His brothers kept him going. He spends his time loafing about: fishing, shooting, or just hanging round. It was his fishing, as a matter of fact, that led to the row with Dr. Ardsley.” Sir Clinton leaned forward in his chair and looked at the secretary keenly. “All this is very interesting, Mr. Stenness; but I have an idea that there’s something in your mind that you haven’t told us. What is it?” The Secretary gave him look for look before replying. “I don’t think this is a local affair at all. The evidence points away from that, entirely.” “Ah! Now this is what I really wanted, Mr. Stenness.” Thus encouraged Stenness wasted no time.