"Of course, if the doctor were not so certain that death had occurred during the day, we might place the murder at some time on the previous night, after the performance, when Henley would naturally be in his pierrot's dress, but why should he put it on during the day. There was no rehearsal, I suppose?" "Nothing was said about it; besides, Henley was supposed to be in town." "Yes, I know. That is one of our difficulties. I take it that neither Watson nor any of his company have offered any explanation of the tragedy?" "I believe not. I saw the local inspector this morning, and he said nothing further had transpired, nor had any clue been found amongst the dead man's effects. Of course, if his companions had any guilty knowledge they would have made some explanation." "Why?" "To mislead us." "My dear Wigan, there are times when you jump as far to a conclusion as a woman." "I am arguing from a somewhat ripe experience," I retorted somewhat hotly. "Strengthened by an interest in Sister Pomona, eh? Something of the old-fashioned school lingers about you, which is picturesque but always a handicap in these days. The methods of crime have changed just as the methods of other enterprises have changed. Your bungling villain has no chance nowadays; to succeed a criminal must be an artist, a scientist even, and he does not fall into the error of accusing himself by excusing himself. And since increased knowledge tends to simplify those explanations with which we have sought to explain away difficulties in the past, I think we shall be wise to apply modern methods to any difficulty with which we are confronted." Naturally, I argued the point, endeavoring to justify myself, and in the process we nearly quarreled. That night we went to the entertainment. It was an exceedingly full house, showing the commercial wisdom of the proprietors of the sea-baths in not canceling the engagement. The verve and go in the performance astonished me. One would not have supposed that a tragedy had happened in this little company of players. I felt that they ought to be horribly conscious of the ghastly thing which had been found under that platform only a few hours since. I said something of the kind to Quarles. "Don't forget the artistic temperament," he answered. "Surely it would be the very temperament to be influenced," I said. "Presently we shall find out, perhaps," he whispered as Sister Pomona went to the piano. It was Chopin she played to-night, and Quarles, who had been more interested in her than in the rest of the company, immediately lost himself in the music. He applauded as vociferously as any one in the audience, and after the performance would talk of nothing but music. It pleased him to become learned on harmony and counterpoint; at least, I suppose it was learned; I could not understand him. I had suggested that he should make the acquaintance of the pierrots as soon as the curtain was down, but this he would not do.