“There, gentlemen, you approach me on much more delicate ground. And in some ways, I regret having made the admission to you and the promise to tell you all I know. The dead man, if he still possesses a spiritual consciousness in some other sphere, will, I hope, understand. I can only hope also that the living man will understand too. Gentlemen, Mr. Stewart was extremely upset about the conduct of his son—Charles Stewart.” Goodall’s body became all attention. It seemed to him that he was beginning to emerge into the light at last. “What had Charles Stewart done to offend his father?” he demanded. The Colonel extended his hands towards them—palms upwards. It was a gesture of deprecation and at the same time seemed to contain a tinge of disappointment. “That is a question I cannot answer! Mr. Stewart did not enlighten me. He told me that he was grievously disappointed over something Charles had done. He said that it would make a difference to his whole life.” “_Whose_ life?” Anthony shot the question at him. “His own life or his son’s?” “I understood him to mean his _own_ life,” rejoined the Colonel very quietly. “And he gave you no inkling as to what this conduct was?” “None at all!” The Colonel shook his head slowly, “and I didn’t press him for any more information on the point. It would have been a breach of courtesy on my part to have appeared unwarrantably inquisitive. I let Mr. Stewart tell me as much as it pleased him—and I sympathized with him. He was deeply attached to Charles and felt the misunderstanding or whatever it was very keenly. There is just one more piece of information that I am in a position to give. Mr. Stewart intended having an interview with his son after I left that evening. Of course, I can’t say that the interview ever took place.” The Colonel caressed his moustache again. Goodall sprang to his feet. “Good heavens, Colonel! Do you realize the gravity of this last statement? Do you know at what time Mr. Stewart’s murder has been put at—pretty well _fixed_?” “I do not, Inspector,” responded the Colonel. “I have only heard the bare facts.” He looked at Goodall with an invitation for information. The Inspector gave it to him. “As far as we are able to judge—we who have been looking into the case—the late Mr. Stewart met his death somewhere about eleven o’clock—just about an hour after Butterworth saw you out.” The Colonel shrugged his square shoulders. “An hour is a long time, gentlemen, I would remind you! And Charles Stewart may not have been with his father after all. Events may have conspired to prevent it—there’s no knowing. You are working more or less in the dark.”