Dunwoodie glared. "I suppose, sir, I must let you in, but allow me to tell you----" Urbanely Jones gestured. "Pray do not ask my permission, it is a privilege to listen to anything you may say." Dunwoodie turned. Through a winding hall he led the way to a room in which a lane went from the threshold to a table. The lane was bordered with an underbush of newspapers, pamphlets, magazines. Behind the underbush was a forest of books. Beside the table were an armchair and a stool. From above, hung a light. Otherwise, save for cobwebs, the room was bare and very relaxing. Dunwoodie taking the chair, indicated the stool. "Now, sir!" Jones gave him the declaration. With not more than a glance Dunwoodie possessed himself of the contents. He put it down. "If I had not known you had studied law, not for a moment would that rigamarole lead me to suspect it." In a protest which was quite futile, Jones raised a hand. "The notary is unnecessary, I know that. I know also that a dying declaration is not the best evidence, but----" "Do you at least know that the declarant is dead?" Jones, who favoured the dramatic, nodded. "He died in my arms." Dunwoodie took it in and took it out. "It is curious how crime leads to bad taste." Jones leaned forward. "I may tell you for your information----" "Spare me, I am overburdened with information as it is." Jones sat back. He had no intention of taking Dunwoodie then behind the scenes. That would come later. But he did want to try out an invention that had occurred to him. He sighed. "Don't you care to hear why he did it?" "Not in the least." "But----" Dunwoodie fumbled in a pocket. "The district attorney may be more receptive. I shall go to him in the morning and I will thank you to go with me." "I am not up in the morning." "Then don't go to bed." From the pocket, Dunwoodie extracted an enormous handkerchief. It fascinated Jones. He had never seen one that resembled it. "You dispose of me admirably. The district attorney, I suppose, will enter a nolle prosequi." In that handkerchief, Dunwoodie snorted. "You may suppose what you like." Jones laughed. "It is my business to suppose. I suppose, when the murder was committed, that Lennox was at home. If I am right, he has an alibi which his servant can confirm." Dunwoodie stared. "Whatever your business may be, it is not to teach me mine." Jones drew out a cigarette-case. "Let me sit at your feet then. What does Lennox say?" "How inquisitive you are! But to be rid of you, he----" "May I smoke?" Jones interrupted. "Good God, sir! You are not preparing to make a night of it?"