But what was really worrying Roger far more than the question of Jefferson’s share in the affair was the possible inclusion of the two women who seemed somehow to be mixed up with it. On the face of things no doubt it was, as Alec so strongly held, almost incredible that either Mrs. Plant or Lady Stanworth could be a party to a murder. Yet it was impossible to dispute the facts. That there was a distinct understanding between Jefferson and Lady Stanworth seemed as certain to Roger as that there had been a murder in the house instead of a suicide. And a similar understanding between Mrs. Plant and Jefferson appeared to be even more strongly established. Added to which there was her suspicious behaviour in the library that morning; for in spite of the fact that her jewels had been in the safe, after all, Roger was still no less firmly convinced that this excuse for her presence in the library was a lie. Furthermore, Mrs. Plant certainly knew very much more about Stanworth and his relations with his secretary and sister-in-law than she was willing to admit; it was a pity that she had checked herself just in time after tea, when she appeared to have been on the point of allowing something of real importance to slip past her guard. Yes; though he was no more willing to believe it than was Alec himself, Roger could see no loophole through which to escape from the assumption that both Mrs. Plant and Lady Stanworth were as deeply implicated as Jefferson himself. It was most unfortunate that Alec should have chosen to adopt such a highly prejudiced view of the matter; this was just the sort of thing for which nothing was required so much as impartial discussion. Roger covertly eyed the face of his taciturn companion and sighed softly. The back of the house did not run in a single straight line. Between the library and the dining room, where was the small room which was used for storing trunks and lumber, the wall was set back a few feet and formed a shallow recess; and this space was occupied by a little shrubbery of laurels. As the two passed this shrubbery, a small blue object, lying on the ground at the outer edge, caught the sun’s rays and the gleam of it attracted Roger’s attention. Carelessly and half unconsciously, he strolled towards it. Then something in its particular shade of blue struck a sudden note in his memory, and he stared at it curiously. “What’s that little blue thing by the roots of those laurels, Alec?” he asked, frowning at it. “It seems vaguely familiar somehow.” He stepped across the path and picked it up. It was a piece of blue china. “Hullo!” he said eagerly, holding it up so that Alec could see it. “Do you realise what this is?” Alec joined him on the path and looked at the piece of china without very much interest. “Yes, it’s a bit of broken plate or something.” “Oh, no, it isn’t! Don’t you recognise the colour? It’s a bit of the missing vase, my boy. I wonder—— By Jove, I wonder if the rest is in here.”