“And Lady Stanworth, then. Well, dash it all, you can’t expect them to take us into their confidence, can you? And that is the only way in which their part can be cleared up. Not that it seems to me in the least worth clearing up. I don’t see that it could possibly have anything to do with the murder. Good Lord, it’s practically the same thing as accusing them of the murder itself! I ask you, my dear chap, _can_ you imagine either Mrs. Plant or Lady Stanworth—we’ll leave Jefferson out for the moment—actually plotting old Stanworth’s murder! It’s really too ludicrous. You ought to have more sense.” “This particular topic always seems to excite you, Alexander,” observed Roger mildly. “Well, I mean, it’s so dashed absurd. You can’t really believe anything of the sort.” “Perhaps I don’t. Anyhow, we’ll shelve it till something more definite crops up. It’s quite hot enough already, without making each other still more heated. Look here, let’s give the whole thing a rest till we get back. It will clear our brains. I’ll give you a short lecture on the influence of the Platonic ethics on Hegelian philosophy instead, with a few sidelights on neo-Platonism.” Which, in spite of Alec’s spirited protests, he at once proceeded to do. In this way the time passed pleasantly and instructively till they had passed the lodge gates once more. “So you see,” concluded Roger happily, “that while in mediæval philosophy this mysticism is in powerful and ultimately successful opposition to rationalistic dogmatism, with its contemptuous disregard for all experience, the embryonic science of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was actually in itself a logical development of neo-Platonism in this same opposition to barren rationalism.” “Was it?” said Alec gloomily, registering a secret but none the less fervent prayer that he might never hear the word neo-Platonism again as long as he lived. “I see.” “You do? Good. Then let us seek out and have speech with friend William.” “Are you going to give him a short lecture on rationalistic dogmatism?” Alec asked carefully. “Because if so, I’m going indoors.” “I’m afraid it would be wasted on William,” Roger replied seriously. “William, I feel sure, is a dogmatist of the most bigoted type if ever there was one; and to lecture to him on the futility of dogma would be as ineffective as to harangue a hippopotamus on the subject of drawing-room etiquette. No, I just want to sound William a little. Not that I think it will really be of much help to us, but just at present I’m turning every stone I can see.” In due course William was run to earth in a large greenhouse. He was mounted unhappily on an exceedingly rickety pair of steps and engaged in tying up a vine. On seeing Roger he hastily descended to firm ground. William did not believe in taking chances. “Good-afternoon, William,” said Roger brightly. “Arternoon, sir,” William responded suspiciously. “I’ve just been having a chat with your wife, William.”