“By—Jove!” he exclaimed, transferring his gaze to Alec. “I believe I’ve got it. And doesn’t it simplify things, too? Yes, it _must_ be right. It makes everything as clear as daylight. Good lord! Well, I’m damned!” “Out with it, then!” Roger paused impressively. This was the most dramatic moment he had yet encountered, and he was not going to spoil it by any undue precipitation. He smote the table softly with his fist by way of preparation. Then: “Old Stanworth was a professional blackmailer!” he said in vibrant tones. Chapter XXII Mr. Sheringham Solves the Mystery It was past ten o’clock on the following morning, and Roger and Alec were engaged in taking a constitutional in the rose garden after breakfast before the inquest proceedings opened. Roger had refused to say anything further on the previous evening—or, rather, in the small hours of the same morning. All he had done was to remark that it was quite time they were in bed, and that he wanted a clear head before discussing the affair in the light of this new revelation of Stanworth’s character. He remarked this not once, but many times; and Alec had perforce to be contented with it. Now, with pipes in full blast, they were preparing to go further into the matter. Roger himself was complacently triumphant. “Mystery?” he repeated, in answer to a question of Alec’s. “There isn’t any mystery now. I’ve solved it.” “Oh, I know the mystery about Stanworth is cleared up,” said Alec impatiently; to tell the truth, Roger in this mood irritated him not a little. “That is, if your explanation is the right one, which I’m not disputing at the moment.” “Thank you very much.” “But what about the mystery of his death? You can’t have solved that.” “On the contrary, Alexander,” Roger rejoined, with a satisfied smile; “that is exactly what I have done.” “Oh? Then who killed him?” “If you want it in a single word,” Roger said, not without a certain reluctance, “Jefferson.” “_Jefferson?_” Alec exclaimed. “Oh, rot!” Roger glanced at him curiously. “Now that’s interesting,” he commented. “Why do you say ‘rot’ like that?” “Because——” Alec hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems such rot to think of Jefferson committing a murder, I suppose. Why?” “You mean, you don’t think it’s the sort of thing he would do?” “I certainly don’t!” Alec returned with emphasis. “Do you know, Alec, I’m beginning to think you’re a better judge of character than I am. It’s a humiliating confession, but there you are. Tell me, have you always thought that about Jefferson, or only just recently?” Alec considered. “Ever since this business cropped up, I think. It always seemed fantastic to me that Jefferson could be mixed up with it. And the two women as well, for that matter. No, Roger, if you’re trying to fix it on Jefferson, I’m quite sure you’re making a bad mistake.” Roger’s complacency was unshaken.