Who, he had asked himself the night before—who, of all the persons who figured on the list Joan and he had compiled, was most likely to have done the thing? He felt certain that it was not the work of a stranger: the whole of the circumstances seemed to point to some one familiar with the house and its ways. Yet, on the evidence, it seemed clear enough that no one among those they had put upon their list could be guilty. But their list included everybody. Very well—this had been his first inspiration—there must be something wrong with the evidence. It must point away from the guilty, as it had pointed towards the innocent. The murderer who had laid that clever trail to incriminate Walter Brooklyn would obviously have taken the precaution to lay a trail pointing away from himself. Indeed, whoever had the apparently clearest _alibi_ was on this showing the most likely to be guilty. It would be safest, in the circumstances, to ignore for the moment all the evidence which seemed to prove innocence, and simply consider, in the light of the remaining conditions, who was most likely to have been the murderer. This narrowed the field considerably. The women, except as possible accessories, could be ruled out of account in any case; for no woman could have struck the blows by which the two cousins had met their deaths. That left—whom? Walter Brooklyn was out of it; for his _alibi_ had been not merely accepted, but tested beyond possible doubt. Ellery could hardly suspect himself, though he admitted that any one else, following out his line of thought, might still suspect him. His _alibi_ was not conclusive: it depended on the word of one man. But he could rule himself out: he could say positively that he had not done the thing. Then who remained? Only Harry Lucas, Carter Woodman, and the two servants, Winter and Morgan. Among these, if he was right, the real murderer must be found. It was ludicrous, Ellery felt, to suspect his guardian. Harry Lucas had no possible motive, and he was the very last man for such a deed. He was ruled out of consideration as soon as the thought was conceived. About Winter and Morgan Ellery could not feel the same full certainty; but he was very strongly of opinion that the murders were not the work of a servant, and that neither of these men had the qualities which the deed seemed to demand. Then there was left only—Carter Woodman. It was on that thought that Ellery had fallen asleep, and that was the idea that now came back to him with added certainty. Carter Woodman was the murderer.