Late on the following night we were in the empty room. At the professor's suggestion I repeated the whole story for Zena's benefit, although I fancy Quarles wanted to have a definite picture before his mind, as it were, and to find out whether any particular points had struck me. Zena's comment when I had finished was rather surprising. "This Mr. Majendie must be a clumsy thrower," she said. Quarles sat up in his chair as if his interest in the conversation had only become keen at that moment. "She hits the very heart of the mystery, Wigan." "There is no certainty that it was Majendie," I replied. "Whether it was or not is immaterial for the moment. The fact remains that some one who was anxious to get rid of incriminating evidence was so clumsy that he threw it where any one could pick it up. Not one man in a thousand would have done that, no matter what state of agitation he was in. The packet was deliberately thrown away, remember; it was not done in a moment of sudden fear." "I am all attention to hear what theory you base upon it," I returned. "We will begin with the wound," said Quarles. "Sir Robert Gibbs and Dr. Williams agree that it could not have been self-inflicted. Sir Robert suggested that I should try to stab myself in the same way and see how impossible it was. Remember it was a stab and a pull of the blade to one side. It was impossible for a right-handed man, difficult even for a left-handed one, but not impossible. That was the first point I made a mental note of." "Why did you not speak of the possibility?" "Chiefly, I think, because I was convinced that Sir Robert expected me to do so, was waiting for me to do so, in fact. He is far too cute a man not to have considered the possibility, and was prepared to prove that Hardiman was a right-handed man, as we know he was from his servant. In all probability Sir Robert knew that Bennett had to cut his master's nails. I was not disposed to give the doctor such an opening as that, although no doubt he thought me a fool for not thinking of it." "Then we do away with the theory of suicide?" I said. "Well, the absence of any weapon appears to do that," said Quarles. "What was the weapon? A knife of some kind, a rusty knife and rather jagged, I fancy. The wound suggested that it was jagged, and in spite of the washing my lens revealed traces of rust. Rather a curious knife to commit murder with. That was my second mental note. We had to be prepared for a curious personality somewhere in the business." "Mr. Majendie," I said.