“Who’s that great red hulk of a sergeant?” said Anthony, flitting to yet another subject. “You ought to watch him, Boyd. When I came along he was indulging in a little third degree.” “I heard it, sir. That’s why I came in.” “Good. Who was the timid little ferret?” “Belford—Robert Belford, sir. He’s a sort of assistant to Poole and was valet to the deceased.” “How did he answer when you questioned him?” “Very confused he was. But his story’s all right—very reasonable. I don’t consider him, so to speak. He hasn’t got the nerve, or the strength.” Anthony stroked his chin. “It’s easy enough to see,” he said, “that you don’t want to be persuaded away from your idea that an outsider did this job.” “You’re right, sir,” Boyd smiled. “As far as I’ve progressed yet an outsider’s my fancy. Most decidedly. Still one never knows where the next turning’s going to lead to, so to speak. Of course, I’ve got a lot of inquiries afoot—but so far we’ve less than nothing to go on.” “Anything stolen?” “Nothing.” Anthony was still gazing down at the carpet before the sofa. Again he dropped on one knee. This time he rubbed at the thick pile with his fingers. He rose, darting a look round the room. “What’s up, sir?” Boyd was watching attentively. “A most convenient struggle that,” murmured Anthony. “What’s that? What d’you mean, sir?” “I was remarking, O Boyd, that the struggle had been, for the murderer, of an almost incredible convenience. Observe that the two chairs which were overturned are far from heavy; observe also that the carpet is very far from thin. These light chairs fell, not, mark you, on the parquet edging of the floor, but conveniently inwards upon this thickest of thick carpets. Observe also, most _puissant_ inspector, that the articles dislodged from the writing-table, besides falling on the carpet, are nothing but light books and papers. Nothing heavy, you see. Nothing which would make a noise.” “I follow you, sir,” Boyd cried. “You mean——” “’Ush, ’ush, I will ’ave ’ush! I would finally direct your attention to the highly convenient juxtaposition of this sofa here and our friend the clock. The sofa is a solid, stolid lump of a sofa; it’s none of your trifling divans. In fact, it would require not merely a sudden jerk but a steady and lusty pull to move it, wouldn’t it?” The detective applied his considerable weight to the arm of the sofa. Nothing happened.