“All we have is his own word that he was up at the spinney shooting rabbits. For all we know, he may have been in the Maze. He knows it thoroughly. All the family do, of course.” He thought in silence for a moment or two, then added: “And of course he’s very keen on air-guns; and he knew of the store of curare in the house.” “You’ve made out quite a fair case against both Hackleton and young Hawkhurst _as suspects_, Squire; but there isn’t a tittle of evidence there that a jury would look at, you know.” “Oh, I see that well enough,” Wendover admitted. “But the case against other people isn’t half as strong. Ardsley’s a possible suspect. He has possession of curare; he knows the Maze intimately. . . .” “And he’s had a squabble with Roger Shandon over some trifling fishing rights. I’m afraid even Izaak Walton would hardly have thought the matter was a sufficient ground for murder, Squire.” Wendover could think of no reply to this on the spur of the moment, and to cover his defeat he hurried on to a fresh group of suspects. “Now we come to the people who were actually in the Maze at the time of the murder or whom we know to have been in it immediately afterwards: Torrance, Miss Forrest, and that fellow Costock, your I.D.B. friend. I can’t see how Miss Forrest had anything to do with it. As to Costock, you know about him and I don’t.” “Yes,” said Sir Clinton, “I know all about Costock.” But he volunteered no further information and waited for Wendover to proceed. “That leaves Torrance, then. It’s as plain as print that Torrance might have been the murderer. He was in the Maze at the time. He arranged to part from the girl at the entrance. He’s had plenty of time to learn the Maze while he’s been down here at Whistlefield. He might have been the person Vera Forrest heard running in the Maze just after the murder—quite easily.” “He didn’t take an air-gun into the Maze with him,” Sir Clinton objected. Wendover had his answer ready this time. “No, but he might have had it hidden there beforehand.” “And no air-gun was found afterwards.” “He may have chucked it on to the top of one of the hedges. Your constables couldn’t have spotted it there without ladders.” “That’s quite true,” said Sir Clinton. “Well?” Wendover seemed to have a flash of illumination. His face lit up. “Now I see what you meant by your map-analogy! Of course, the snag is that on the face of it young Torrance had no motive. But suppose he was Hackleton’s tool? Suppose he was in the pay of Hackleton to do this job for him? Then it would all fit in. But it’ll be the devil of a business to prove it, if it is true.” Glancing across at his friend he detected a peculiar expression on Sir Clinton’s face. It was only a fleeting one, for almost immediately the Chief Constable resumed his normal mask. “Go on,” he said again. Wendover had to confess that he had reached the end of his list.