Roger whistled again. “Well, thanks very much, Jefferson. I think that’s all I wanted to know.” “If you’re trying to look for someone who induced Stanworth to shoot himself, you’re wasting your time,” Jefferson remarked. “Couldn’t be done.” “Oh, there’s a little more in my quest than that,” Roger smiled, as he let himself out of the room. He hurried upstairs, glancing at his watch as he did so. The time was nearly five minutes to four. He scurried down the passage to Alec’s room. “Finished packing?” he asked, putting his head round the door. “Good, well come along to my room while I do mine.” “Well?” Alec asked sarcastically, when they were once more ensconced in Roger’s bedroom. “Has Jefferson written out his confession?” Roger paused in the act of laying his suitcase on a chair. “Alec,” he said solemnly, “I owe friend Jefferson an apology, though I can’t very well tender it. I was hopelessly wrong about him, and you were hopelessly right. He didn’t kill Stanworth at all. It’s extremely annoying of him considering how neatly I solved this little problem of ours; but there’s the fact.” “Humph!” Alec observed. “I won’t _say_, ‘I told you so,’ because I know how annoying it would be for you. But I don’t mind telling you that I’m thinking it hard.” “Yes, and the most irritating part is that you’re fully entitled to do so,” Roger said, throwing his pyjamas into the case. “That’s what I find so irksome.” “But I suppose you’ve found somebody else to take his place all right?” “No, I haven’t. Isn’t it maddening? But I’ll tell you one significant fact I’ve unearthed. That butler had as much cause as anyone, if not more, to regret the fact that Stanworth was still polluting the earth.” “Had he? Oh! But look here, how do you know that Jefferson didn’t do it?” Roger explained. “Not much so far as actual hard-and-fast-evidence goes, I’m afraid,” he concluded, “but we greater detectives are above evidence. It’s psychology that we study, and I feel in every single bone in my body that Jefferson was telling the truth.” “Lady Stanworth!” Alec commented. “Good Lord!” “Some men are brave, aren’t they? Still, I daresay she’ll make an excellent wife; I believe that’s the right thing to say on this sort of occasion. But seriously, Alec, I’m absolutely baffled again. I think I shall have to turn the case over to you.” “Well, do,” Alec retorted with unexpected energy, “and I’ll tell you who killed Stanworth.” Roger desisted from his efforts to close the lid of his bulging case in order to look up in surprise. “You will, eh? Well, who did?”