“I can,” said Roger quickly. “Two things. In the first place, those vases were far too thick to break like that simply through being knocked over on a wooden surface. In the second, even if it had been, you’d get a smooth, elliptical mark in the dust where it fell; and there isn’t one. No, there’s only one possible reason for it to break as it did, as far as I can make out.” “And what’s that, Sherlock?” “That it had been struck by something—and struck so hard and cleanly that it simply smashed where it stood and was not knocked into the hearth. What do you think of that?” “It seems reasonable enough,” Alec conceded after consideration. “You’re not very enthusiastic, are you? It’s so jolly eminently reasonable that it must be right. Now, then, the next question is—who or what hit it like that?” “I say, do you think this is going to lead anywhere?” Alec asked suddenly. “Aren’t we wasting time over this rotten vase? I don’t see what it can have to do with what we’re looking for. Not that I have the least idea what that is, in any case,” he added candidly. “You don’t seem to have taken to my vase, Alec. It’s a pity, because I’m getting more and more fond of it every minute. Anyhow, I’m going to put in one or two minutes’ really hard thinking about it; so if you’d like to wander out into the garden and have a chat with William, don’t let me keep you.” Alec had strolled over to the windows again. For some reason he seemed somewhat anxious to keep the garden under observation as far as possible. “Oh, I won’t interrupt you,” he was beginning carelessly, when at the same moment the reason appeared in sight, walking slowly on to the lawn from the direction of the rose garden. “Well, as a matter of fact, perhaps I will wander out for a bit,” he emended hurriedly. “Won’t stay away long, in case anything else crops up.” And he made a hasty exit. Roger, following with his eyes the bee-line his newly appointed assistant was taking, smiled slightly and resumed his labours. Alec did not waste time. There was a question which had been worrying him horribly during the last couple of hours, and he wanted an answer to it, and wanted it quickly. “Barbara,” he said abruptly, as soon as he came abreast of her, “you know what you told me this morning. Before breakfast. It hadn’t anything to do with what’s happened here, had it?” Barbara blushed painfully. Then as suddenly she paled. “You mean—about Mr. Stanworth’s death?” she asked steadily, looking him full in the eyes. Alec nodded. “No, it hadn’t. That was only a—a horrible coincidence.” She paused. “Why?” she asked suddenly. Alec looked supremely uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know. You see, you said something about—well, about a horrible thing that had happened. And then half an hour later, when we knew that—I mean, I couldn’t help wondering just for the moment whether——” He floundered into silence.