“If the case were an ordinary one, no doubt,” he replied. “But you’ve got to remember that this isn’t. Stanworth was a blackmailer, and that alters everything. You may murder an ordinary man, but you execute a blackmailer. That is, if you don’t kill him on the spur of the moment, carried away by madness or exasperation. You’d do that sort of thing on your own account, wouldn’t you? Well, how much more so are you going to do it on behalf of a woman, and that a woman with whom you’re in love? I tell you, Alec, the whole thing is as plain as a pikestaff.” “Meaning that Jefferson is in love?” “Precisely.” “Who with?” “Mrs. Plant.” Alec gasped. “Good Lord, how on earth do you know that?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t,” Roger replied with a pleased air. “But he must be. It’s the only explanation. I deduced it.” “The devil you did!” “Yes, I’d arrived at that conclusion even before we discovered the secret of Stanworth’s hidden life. That clears up absolutely everything.” “Does it? I admit it seems to make some of the things more understandable, but I’m dashed if I can see how it makes you so sure that Jefferson killed him.” “I’ll explain,” Roger said kindly. “Jefferson was secretly in love with Mrs. Plant. For some reason or other Mrs. Plant was being blackmailed by Stanworth unknown to Jefferson. He has a midnight interview with her in the library and demands money. She weeps and implores him (hence the dampness of the handkerchief) and lays a face on the arm of the couch as women do (hence the powder in that particular place). Stanworth is adamant; he must have money. She says she hasn’t got any money. All right, says Stanworth, hand your jewels over then. She goes and gets her jewels and gives them to him. Stanworth opens the safe and tells her that is where he keeps his evidence against her. Then he locks the jewels up and tells her she can go. Enter Jefferson unexpectedly, takes in the situation at a glance, and goes for Stanworth bald-headed. Stanworth fires at him and misses, hitting the vase. Jefferson grabs his wrist, forces the revolver round and pulls the trigger, thus shooting Stanworth with his own revolver without relaxing the other’s grip on it. Mrs. Plant is horror-struck; but, seeing that the thing is done, she takes command of the situation and arranges the rest. And that,” Roger concluded, with a metaphorical pat on his own back, “is the solution of the peculiar events at Layton Court.” “Is it?” Alec said, with less certainty. “It’s a very pretty little story, no doubt, and does great credit to your imagination. But as to being the solution—well, I’m not so sure about that.”