“No, I thought not,” he rejoined placidly. “You had, I think, forgotten one incident, namely, that Hubert Turnour, accompanied by the Count, was in the former’s room at the Grand Hotel drinking whisky at half-past ten o’clock. You must admit that, even though the hall of the hotel was very crowded later on, a man would nevertheless find it somewhat difficult to convey the body of his murdered enemy through a whole concourse of people.” “He did not murder the Count in the hotel,” I argued. “The two men walked out again, when the hall was crowded, and they passed unnoticed. Hubert Turnour led the Count to a lonely part of the cliffs, then threw him into the sea.” “The nearest point at which the cliffs might be called ‘lonely’ for purposes of a murder, is at least twenty minutes’ walk from the Grand Hotel,” he said, with a smile, “always supposing that the Count walked quickly and willingly to such a lonely spot at eleven o’clock at night, and with a man who had already, more than once, threatened his life. Mr. Hubert Turnour, remember, was seen in the hall of the hotel at half-past eleven, after which hour he only left the hotel to go to the station after 1 o’clock a.m. “The hall was crowded by the passengers from the boat train a little after eleven. There was no time between that and half-past to lead even a willing enemy to the slaughter, throw him into the sea, and come back again, all in the space of five-and-twenty minutes.” “Then what is your explanation of that extraordinary disappearance?” I retorted, beginning to feel very cross about it all. “A simple one,” he rejoined quietly, as he once more began to fidget with his bit of string. “A very simple one indeed; namely, that Count Collini, at the present moment, is living comfortably in England, calmly awaiting a favourable opportunity of changing his foreign money back into English notes.” “But you say yourself that that is impossible, as the most able detectives in England are on the watch for him.” “They are on the watch for a certain Count Collini,” he said drily, “who might disguise himself, perhaps, but whose hidden identity would sooner or later be discovered by one of these intelligent human bloodhounds.” “Yes? Well?” I asked. “Well, that Count Collini never existed. It was _his_ personality that was the disguise. Now it is thrown off. The Count is not dead, he is not hiding, but has merely ceased to exist. There is no fear that he will ever come to life again. Mr. Turnour senior will see to that.” “Mr. Turnour!” I ejaculated.