“Mr. Keeson, who was a rich man, moreover, had enlisted the services of Sir Arthur Inglewood, who had, in the short time at his disposal, collected all the most important evidence on behalf of his client. “The two young men who had been travelling in Norway with Harold Keeson had been present with him on the memorable night at a bachelor party given by a mutual friend at the ‘Stag and Mantle.’ Both testified that the party had played bridge until the small hours of the morning, that between two rubbers—the rooms being very hot—they had all strolled out to smoke a cigar in the streets. Just as they were about to re-enter the hotel two church clocks—one of which was St. Saviour’s—chimed out the hour—four o’clock. “Four o’clock was the hour when Cockram said that he had spoken to Mrs. Keeson. Harold had not left the party at the ‘Stag and Mantle’ since ten o’clock, which was an hour before Alice Image took the drugged beer to the groom. The whole edifice of the prosecution thus crumbled together like a house of cards, and Harold Keeson was discharged, without the slightest suspicion clinging to him. “Six months later he married Lady Agnes Stourcliffe. The Earl, now a completely ruined man, offered no further opposition to the union of his daughter with a man who, at any rate, could keep her in comfort and luxury; for though both Mr. Keeson and his son lost heavily through Cigarette’s illness, yet the trainer was sufficiently rich to offer his son and his bride a very beautiful home.” The man in the corner called to the waitress, and paid for his glass of milk and cheesecake, whilst I remained absorbed in thought, gazing at the _Daily Telegraph_, which, in its “London Day by Day,” had this very morning announced that Mr. and Lady Agnes Keeson had returned to town from “The Rookery,” Newmarket. Chapter V “But who poisoned Cigarette?” I asked after a while; “and why?” “Ah, who did, I wonder?” he replied with exasperating mildness. “Surely you have a theory,” I suggested. “Ah, but my theories are not worth considering. The police would take no notice of them.” “Why did Mrs. Keeson go to the stables that night? Did she go?” I asked. “Cockram swears she did.” “She swears she didn’t. If she did why should she have asked for her son? Surely she did not wish to incriminate her son in order to save herself?” “No,” he replied; “women don’t save themselves usually at the expense of their children, and women don’t usually ‘hocus’ a horse. It is not a female crime at all—is it?” The aggravating creature was getting terribly sarcastic; and I began to fear that he was not going to speak, after all. He was looking dejectedly all around him. I had one or two parcels by me. I undid a piece of string from one of them, and handed it to him with the most perfectly indifferent air I could command. “I wonder if it was Cockram who told a lie?” I then said unconcernedly.