“A jolly sight too fast,” Alec grumbled. “You don’t even know for anything like certain that the second shot was fired last night at all, and——” “Oh, yes, I do, friend Alec. The vase was broken last night.” “Well, in any case, you don’t know that Stanworth fired it. And here you are already inventing somebody else for him to shoot at? It’s too rapid for me.” “Alec, you are Scotch, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am. But what’s that got to do with it?” “Oh, nothing; except that your bump of native caution seems to be remarkably well developed. Try and get over it. I’ll take the plunges; you follow. Where had we got to? Oh, yes; Stanworth was not alone in the library last night. Now, then, what does that give us?” “Heaven only knows what it won’t give you,” murmured Alec despairingly. “I know what it’s going to give you,” retorted Roger complacently, “and that’s a shock. It’s my firm impression that old Stanworth never committed suicide at all last night.” “What?” Alec gasped. “What on earth do you mean?” “That he was murdered!” Alec lowered his pipe and stared with incredulous eyes at his companion. “My dear old chap,” he said after a little pause, “have you gone suddenly quite daft?” “On the contrary,” replied Roger calmly, “I was never so remarkably sane in my life.” “But—but how could he possibly have been murdered? The windows all fastened and the door locked on the inside, with the key in the lock as well! And, good Lord, his own statement sitting on the table in front of him! Roger, my dear old chap, you’re mad.” “To say nothing of the fact that his grip on the revolver was—what did the doctor call it? Oh, yes; properly adjusted, and must have been applied during life. Yes, there are certainly difficulties, Alec, I grant you.” Alec shrugged his shoulders eloquently. “This affair’s gone to your head,” he said shortly. “Talk about making mountains out of molehills! Good Lord! You’re making a whole range of them out of a single worm-cast.” “Very prettily put, Alec,” Roger commented approvingly. “Perhaps I am. But my impression is that old Stanworth was murdered. I might be wrong, of course,” he added candidly. “But I very seldom am.” “But dash it all, the thing’s out of the question! You’re going the wrong way round once more. Even if there was a second man in the library last night—which I very much doubt!—you can’t get away from the fact that he must have gone before Stanworth locked himself in like that. That being the case, we get back to suicide again. You can’t have it both ways, you know. I’m not saying that this mythical person may not have put pressure of some sort on Stanworth (that is, if he ever existed at all) and forced him to commit suicide. But as for murder——! Why, the idea’s too dashed silly for words!” Alec was getting quite heated at this insult to his logic.