“By Jove, I begin to think you are right,” Garside agreed, with a display of increasing interest. “The revolver would have been found nearer the body, Mr. Carter, if the physician had it and this were a case of suicide.” “Exactly,” Nick nodded. “That’s the very point.” “Besides, a suicide theory seems utterly improbable.” “So it does.” “Mrs. Clayton would not have lost her head in that case, nor have touched the body. She would have called for help, and would have stated what had occurred,” Garside forcibly argued. “Certainly,” Nick coincided. “Any sane woman would have done so.” “Instead, as her bloodstained hands denote, she felt of the body to learn whether the physician was dead. Upon finding that she had killed him, the shock evidently threw her into her present deranged condition.” “Undoubtedly,” said Nick. “There is no getting around it. You are stating my own views, Garside, to the letter.” “There seems to be nothing else to it,” Garside now declared. “Notice, too, Mr. Carter, that the drawer of the library table is partly open. The revolver was taken from the drawer.” “Are you sure of it?” “Positively. It belongs to Mr. Clayton. I have seen it there many times. You will find its leather case in the drawer, also a box of cartridges. See for yourself.” Nick hastened to verify these statements. He found the articles mentioned in the back part of the table drawer. They appeared to clinch in his mind the theory already expressed by the private secretary. For Nick turned abruptly to him and said: “There is, indeed, nothing else to it. Doctor Thorpe and this woman disagreed over something. There may have been an altercation, during which she stealthily took the weapon from the drawer. Obviously, of course, the physician would not have known it was there.” “Surely not,” Garside declared. “Mrs. Clayton, then, must have been the one who had the weapon, and it appears evident that she had some serious cause to fear the physician,” Nick forcibly reasoned. “She evidently attempted to use the telephone, moreover, probably intending to call for help, and when Doctor Thorpe tried to prevent her, possibly in a fit of passion, she became so alarmed that she shot and killed him. As you say, Mr. Garside, there seems to be nothing else to it.” Mr. Rollo Garside smoothed his neatly plastered hair with his palms and looked as if he thoroughly agreed with the famous detective. “Nevertheless, it seems incredible, Mr. Carter, utterly incredible,” he said tentatively. “What earthly cause can Madame Clayton have had, as she is called, to distinguish her from Mr. Chester Clayton, for standing in fear of Doctor Thorpe, even to the extreme extent of taking his life?” “That may appear later,” said Nick. “Possibly.” “Physicians sometimes discover secrets, you know, from which they try to derive pecuniary advantage. I refer to those unprincipled practitioners who are not above blackmail. Doctor Thorpe may have been one of that class.”