That, at any rate, would fit in with some of the puzzling facts. The powder on the arm of the couch, for instance, and the wet handkerchief. Roger’s imagination began to ride free. Mrs. Plant was in the library with Stanworth; he was bullying her, or something. Perhaps he was trying to force some course of action upon her which was repugnant to her. In any case, she weeps and implores him. He is adamant. She hides her face against the arm of the couch and goes on weeping. Jefferson enters, sees at a glance what is happening and kills Stanworth in the madness of his passion with as little compunction as one would feel towards a rat. Mrs. Plant looks on in horror; tries to interfere, perhaps, but without effect. As soon as the thing is done she becomes as cool as ice and sets the stage for suicide. Roger jumped to his feet and leaned out over the sill. “It fits!” he murmured excitedly. “It all fits in!” Glancing downwards, he noticed that the morning-room light had been extinguished and made a note of the time. It was past one. He sank back in his chair and began to consider whether the other pieces of the puzzle would slip as neatly into this general scene—the safe incident, the change of attitude, Lady Stanworth, and so on. No, this was not going to be quite so easy. At the end of the hour he was still uncertain. The main outline still seemed convincing enough, but all the details appeared hardly so glib. “I’m getting addled,” he murmured aloud, as he rose from the chair. “Better give this side of it a rest for a little.” He made his way softly out of the room and crept along the passage to Alec’s bedroom. Alec sat abruptly up in bed as the door opened. “That you, Roger?” he demanded. “No, this is Jefferson,” Roger said, hastily shutting the door behind him. “And very nicely you’d have given things away if it had been, Alexander Watson. And you might try and moderate your voice a bit. The sound of a foghorn in the middle of the night is bound to make people wonder. Ready?” Alec got out of bed and put on his dressing-gown. “Right-ho.” As quietly as possible they stole downstairs and into the morning room. Roger drew the thick curtains together carefully before switching on the light. “Now for it!” he breathed excitedly, eyeing the crowded table with eagerness. “That little pile there I’ve already been through, so you needn’t bother about those.” “Already?” Alec asked in surprise. “Yes, in company with my excellent friend, Major Jefferson,” Roger grinned, and proceeded to explain what he had been doing. “You’ve got some cheek,” Alec commented with a smile. “Yes, and I’ve got something more than that,” Roger retorted. “I’ve got a thoroughly sound working idea as to who killed Stanworth and under what circumstances. I can tell you, friend Alec, I’ve been uncommonly busy these last two hours or so.” “You have?” said Alec eagerly. “Tell me.”