“Then he got Sheila to obtain the jewel from the bank and come to meet him at Seabourne. He poisoned her with prussic acid administered from a syringe. At least that’s my opinion. Her visit to the dentist’s gave him his chance. He followed her in at the side-entrance, waited for Branston to leave her as he guessed he might—pushed the bolt to imprison him—and strolled into the surgery. It was easy—a matter of seconds. If anything had gone wrong it wouldn’t have mattered much—he had just called in to see how she was. He would have poisoned her somewhere else. But he wanted to make certain of getting time _to visit the bungalow at Tranfield._ Therefore—she must not be identified immediately. To that end he had stolen Daphne Carruthers’ suit-case from the ‘Cassandra’ Hotel the night before, and booked the room at the ‘Lauderdale’ in her name. The suit-case was substituted for Sheila’s own in her car and Sheila’s pushed under the seat at the back. She never knew.” Sir Austin broke in. “Where was he when Sheila went to the ‘Lauderdale’?” Anthony considered for a moment. “After he met her outside Seabourne—he left her—he took care not to be seen with her in Seabourne. But he knew of her intention to visit Branston. When he had murdered her, he took all Sheila’s belongings—there must be nothing to connect her with herself _or with him_, and all the keys she carried. Any communication in his handwriting mustn’t be found on her—for instance. The notes were dangerous—they might be traced—he left them behind as he went out. They would confuse the issue. _He went straight back to Tranfield in Sheila’s car._ There must be nothing at ‘Rest Harrow’ to connect him with her—no scrap of writing. He _had_ to go to make sure! There were probably photographs, etc., to be destroyed. The evidence of the waitress in the teashop at Calstock—four miles from Tranfield—that he was there at five-forty on the evening of the murder told heavily against him at the trial. Sheila had told him, in all probability, that she kept all his correspondence in a private drawer in her bedroom. No doubt he sounded her as to that on one of their numerous assignations. _But he left the one postcard behind_—it was caught in the folds of a scarf. It eluded his search. I was a little bit puzzled at first as to whether he had time to do all this and be back in Seabourne by the late evening as I knew he had been. It _was_ possible—I proved it so. He left Seabourne in the car for Tranfield about two-ten—and could make it soon after six o’clock. He caught the seven-four fast train from Westhampton to Euston—arriving at eight-eight. A quick dash across to Victoria—and he landed in Seabourne again at half-past nine. Willoughby gave evidence that he remembered him being there as the band performance was finishing. He was unable, if you remember, to put forward anything of an alibi for the day of the murder except that. He couldn’t produce anybody else who had seen him.