“Yes, and he had promised Helen to be in. But he said it was a very particular engagement. At some Club or other, I believe. He was seeing Sir John Bunnery about some legal business. When he came in he was dead tired, and went straight to bed.” “Marian, do you like Carter?” Joan asked suddenly. “It seems funny I never asked you that before. I hate him.” “My dear, you mustn’t say that. Of course I like him. I don’t mean I care for Carter like some other people; but of course I like him. Helen is a darling.” “That means you don’t like him at all—only you’re too nice to say so.” “I do like him, Joan. At least, I mean I don’t dislike him.” “He seems to leave Helen alone a great deal.” “Far too much, and he’s often out until all hours.” “He even went out again after the dinner here last Tuesday, didn’t he?” “No, he didn’t that night. He went away to his room and wrote letters. But he didn’t go out again. I stayed with Helen till he came up to bed—rather before twelve. But don’t talk about that horrible night.” “I’m sorry, dear. I won’t again.” And then they talked of other things, until Marian went in to sit a while with Sir Vernon. The doctor, who had been with him, saw Joan on his way out. Sir Vernon, he reported, was not yet out of immediate danger; but he was rallying wonderfully from the shock which he had sustained. Chapter XXVIII The Superintendent’s Theory When Inspector Blaikie reported to Superintendent Wilson the results of his conversation with Carter Woodman, he had formed no definite theory. He explained without comment the precise terms of the will, stating that, if Walter Brooklyn had been removed, Carter Woodman, as next of kin, would have became the principal beneficiary. He was not prepared for the conclusion which his superior immediately drew on hearing that this was the case. “Then Carter Woodman is the murderer,” said the superintendent, with an air of finality. “If we had known these facts before, it would have saved a world of trouble.” “But,” said Inspector Blaikie, “Carter Woodman appears to have a perfect _alibi_. He was in the Cunningham Hotel at the time when the murders were committed—at least that seemed to be an undoubted fact when we investigated his movements.” “My dear inspector, it does not follow that, because Walter Brooklyn’s _alibi_ proved to be sound, all _alibis_ are therefore equally sound. I do not need to remind you that _alibis_ can be faked.” “Quite so, sir; but aren’t you rather hasty in leaping to the conclusion that Woodman is guilty? We have really nothing against him, except a suggestion of motive. As matters stand now, he has gained absolutely nothing by the murders.” “Perhaps not, though it is not safe to be too sure on that point. We may not know all the circumstances. But, if you are right, don’t you see that the very fact that, as matters stand now, he has gained nothing, is a very strong reason for suspecting him?”