“Well—it wasn’t there when he was found next morning,” said Blick. “That’s a fact!” Mrs. Tretheroe started. “That wasn’t mentioned at the inquest!” she exclaimed. “No,” said Blick. “I didn’t know of the ring’s existence until Miss Valencia Markenmore told me—after the adjournment. She had noticed that her brother was wearing it when he called at the Court before seeing you.” “And—it was not found on him?” “It was certainly not found on him.” Mrs. Tretheroe threw away her cigarette. She frowned, and her eyes grew sombre. “Then—that’s another proof that Harborough killed him!” she exclaimed. “How?” asked Blick. “Jealousy! He killed him out of jealousy, and took the ring from him when he was dead—mad with jealousy because Guy had something on him connected with me!” “You really believe, Mrs. Tretheroe, that Harborough killed Guy Markenmore because he was jealous of him—about you?” “Yes, I do—I’m certain of it!” “But,” said Blick, “Harborough said—you remember his evidence?—that he’d been cured of his—er—passion for you some years ago.” “Don’t believe it!” answered Mrs. Tretheroe. “If he had, then it all came back to him when he met me the other afternoon! I saw quite well that Harborough was just as madly in love with me as ever! Then—Guy came along, and—and—well, as I said, he and I made it up quickly. And he met with Harborough up there on the hill-side, and of course they quarrelled, and Harborough killed him! I don’t care what you police people say, nor the Coroner and his jury, nor the magistrates—I know!” “Then you don’t pay any attention to the evidence about the two men who were with Mr. Guy Markenmore at the Sceptre that night, Mrs. Tretheroe?” “Not a bit! A mere business meeting!” “He didn’t tell you whom he was going to meet?” “Not at all—not one word! Merely a business appointment. I wasn’t interested.” “Well,” said Blick, after a moment’s silence. “There’s just another question I want to put to you. You had three or four more guests in your house, I believe, at that time; you don’t think it possible that some one of them was the second man who turned up at the Sceptre?” “Certainly not!” exclaimed Mrs. Tretheroe. “Of course, I know every one of them, well. Not one of them as much as I knew Guy! They were all military men—men I knew in India. They all had their wives here with them, except, of course, Baron von Eckhardstein—he’s not a military man, nor married. But until he came here, to my house-party, he’d never even heard of the Markenmore family. Why!—does somebody suggest this?” “Not at all!” replied Blick hastily. “But in cases of this sort, when there are strangers about in a place—well, you’ve got to find out who they were, you know.”