“Well, at least,” said the superintendent, “there are certain things to go upon. First, there is no doubt at all that the message was sent, and sent from Liskeard House. The inquiries at the Exchange prove that.” The inspector nodded. “That being so, is it not safe to conclude that it was sent by one of the inmates, or by the murderer, before making his escape? If the murderer was an inmate of the house, the two possibilities are reduced to one. Probably he was at any rate some one familiar with the house and the family.” “I see,” said the inspector, and his face brightened up for the first time. “That is certainly a point. You mean that Winter could without difficulty have sent the message?” “Doubtless he could; and so could others. Don’t jump to conclusions. I agree that it would fit in with the theory your mind is now forming that Winter is guilty. But remember that we have really nothing against him. Even if the story about the quarrel and his engagement turns out to be true, that doesn’t carry us very far. It is not enough to prove motive. If everybody who had a motive for murder killed his man there would be nobody left alive. Direct evidence is what counts.” “But direct evidence isn’t easy to get.” “Nothing that is worth while is easy to get. Our job is to do things that are difficult.” “That’s all very well, but——” “But me no buts, inspector. So far from being depressed by this morning’s events, I am greatly encouraged. They fit in exactly with my own view.” “But, if you don’t believe Winter did it, who do you think did?” “Come now, inspector. That is a question for the end of the argument, not the beginning. I had at least fully made up my mind, before I knew anything at all of this _alibi_, that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.” “What on earth made you think that? Had you some fresh evidence?” “No, inspector, merely some fresh use of the old evidence. The more I thought about it, the plainer it became that both those sets of clues were deliberately laid by the same person—I mean the murderer. Don’t you see my point?” “But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?” “That, my dear inspector, _is_ the point. He laid them both in the hope that we should see through the one set, and not through the other. Which is just what you have done. He is a clever scoundrel. He meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.” “He’s too clever for me, if that’s so. But, supposing you’re right, I don’t see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.” The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child, and, as he spoke, ticked off the points on his fingers. “My dear Blaikie, we have to trace the murderer through the false clues which he left. Point number one. Walter Brooklyn’s stick was found in Prinsep’s room. If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?” “Dashed if I know,” said the inspector. “Who could have put it there? Some one must have got it from Walter Brooklyn.”