“Quite right—though I’m not absolutely sure that friend Goodall really did.” He glanced quickly round the room as though in search of something—“hand me that glass, will you, Daventry?” Holding the glass in his left hand, he carefully poured the ink from the bowl into it—very slowly—almost as though measuring it drop by drop. At last the bowl appeared empty—of ink. He handed it back to Peter. “_The other tiny stone_ I mentioned a little time ago—see it at the bottom there—I knew it was there—I could hear it the first time I shook up the ink!” Peter gazed into the ink-bowl with a feeling that he had gone back to school once more and was being confronted again with mathematical mysteries that he had never been too successful in solving. “A similar stone, Daventry, to those we found in the coal-scuttle.” The use of the plural pronoun stimulated Peter immensely. “Yes—yes, of course,” he contributed. Anthony continued with the expression of his theory. “The murderer cleared the table to the best of his ability—but he—(or she)—forgot the ink. And as it happened he had dropped some dirt _into the bowl where the ink was_.” Peter’s wonderment increased. “Really, I don’t altogether follow you,” he declared. “What did he do to make the table dirty—I don’t know?” Anthony poured the ink back into the bowl—after carefully removing the tell-tale stone. “I’ll retrace my steps then a trifle,” he remarked. “First of all, I am fairly confident that this murder was not a premeditated one. It was deliberate and brutal, but as I read the case, something unexpected happened that forced the murderer into what he considered was an impossible situation and one that called for the murder of Stewart—_quickly_.” “You mean that Stewart fired at him and he killed Stewart in a sort of self-defence?” Anthony thought over that for a moment—then shook his head. “No—not that exactly—Stewart was murdered treacherously—as he sat there,” he pointed to the seat by the desk—“killed from behind—but I think you’re right in your assumption that Stewart fired at him—we’ll look into that question in a moment.” “How do you mean, then, that the murderer was _forced_ into killing Stewart?” “Dead men tell no tales,” replied Anthony gravely. Peter nodded. “I see what you mean. But I’ll tell you something that I can’t quite get the hang of!” “I’m listening,” said Anthony. “Fire away.” “Well, it’s like this—all the way through the case—the tendency has been for all of you to take the view that somebody in the house was implicated—everything seems to me to point in that direction! Well”—he stopped for a moment at a loss for words. Anthony said nothing, but waited interestedly for him to continue. Bathurst’s attention, and silent attention at that, gave Peter encouragement. “Well—if that’s so—what made Stewart fire his revolver—as you suggest he did?—it seems to me he would hardly fire a shot at somebody whom he _knew_—somebody with whom he was familiar!”