“If one works from the premises, I think that's so,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “But remember, the premises are only guesses so far. We need the P. M. to confirm them. Now, there are just three more points: the time of death; the lack of wounds on the face or anywhere; and the matter of the silver in the drawer. As to the first two, the amyl nitrite notion fits in quite well. The murderers, if it was murder, made their first slip when they laid him down so carefully and forgot to arrange the hands under the body. I suppose they thought they were giving a suggestive turn to things by the attitude they chose—as though Peter Hay had collapsed under a thunderbolt attack. As to the time of the assumed murder, all we really know was that it was after dew-fall. They may have talked for hours before they finished the old man, for all we can tell; or they may have given him the nitrite almost as soon as they got him tied up. We can't tell, and it's not so very important, after all.” He flicked some ash from his cigarette. “Now we come to the real thing that a jury would want to know about: the motive. What were they after?” He glanced at his two companions, as if inviting an opinion. “I suggested a possible motive, sir,” the inspector reminded him. “Yes, but from the jury point of view you'd have to do two things to make that convincing. You'd have to prove that Peter Hay was helping himself to stuff from Foxhills; and you'd have to establish that the murderers got away with the bulk of it. That's almost a case in itself. If you ask me, inspector, I think that silver represents the usual thing—the murderer's attempt to make things too darned convincing.” Armadale's face betrayed some incredulity. “Don't you see the slip?” Sir Clinton continued. “What sort of man was Peter Hay? You heard me pumping the constable, didn't you? And what did I get? That Peter Hay was a simple old chap who read his Bible and practically nothing else. Now, just recall the fact that there wasn't a fingerprint on any of those things; and silver will take a fingerprint more clearly than most surfaces. Whoever handled these ornaments knew all about the fingerprint danger. He wore gloves, whoever he may be. You'll hardly persuade me—after hearing the constable's report of Peter Hay—that he was a person likely to think of a precaution of that sort.” The inspector looked doubtful. “Perhaps not, sir; but you never can tell.” “Well, my guess is that Peter Hay never handled the stuff at all. It was put there by his murderers; and they took good care not to leave their visiting-cards on it. Doesn't its presence suggest something else to you people?” “You mean,” said Wendover, “that they may have burgled Foxhills themselves, Clinton, and put these things into Peter Hay's drawer to lay the scent in his direction, while they got away with the main bulk of the stuff?” Sir Clinton seemed disinclined to endorse this heartily.