“There is only one possible answer. The problem before us is the work of some subtle and profound intelligence, that, for reasons of its own, has committed a murder, and, for easily understandable reasons, has fouled the traces, so that we are at fault and in confusion.” Freyberger paused and then went on: “I believe, reviewing the facts, that this intelligence, with which we are trying to grapple, is not that of Sir Anthony Gyde. “You see, if we admit him to be the murderer, we must admit him to have committed so many self-condemning faults. Going openly to the cottage, in a motor-car of all things; leaving the letters behind him to damn him and expose his motive; removing his victim’s head yet leaving the body behind; going to his house in Piccadilly; going to his bankers to take away his jewels, when he could, if he chose, have removed his jewels, collected his money, and, having made provision for his escape and his future, then murdered Klein.” “One moment,” said the chief. “Gyde was a passionate man; he may have committed this murder in a fit of passion, and, in the upset of his brain, left those letters behind.” “Yes,” said Freyberger. “But the hand that did the decapitation did not show any sign of brain-upset. Again, if a man murders another in hot blood does he decapitate him? Not as a rule. Let us suppose this head that of some unknown third party: of course, Gyde, if he were the murderer, may have had some powerful reason for removing the head; but why should he leave it in a cupboard in his own house in Piccadilly as another damning piece of evidence against himself? You will excuse me, sir, for speaking so long, but I wish to say this: “The faults before us are the continuous chance blunders of an unimaginable fool, if we view them as the faults committed by Sir Anthony Gyde. Sir Anthony Gyde could not have committed them, we may say _could not_, for they are too many to have been committed by a man with any reason in his head, even though in criminal matters he is a fool. “Well, then, we are driven upon the only other supposition; that Gyde had nothing to do with the murder, and that these seeming faults are really not faults, or in other words, they are faults committed purposely by some keen intelligence to bring confusion into the case. I think what I have said is almost mathematically demonstrable. “I do not like to say any more, except this, that in my firm belief Sir Anthony Gyde is innocent.” There was a murmur from the other men present, a murmur of admiration for the logical reasoning of the little German.