“You see!” continued Anthony with a gesture. “See you also then the almost magical convenience with which, in the course of the struggle, this lumping sofa was moved back towards grandfather, who stood nearly three feet from the sofa’s usual position, which position can be ascertained by noting these four deep dents made in the carpet by the castors. Oh, it’s all so convenient. The sofa’s moved back, then grandfather falls, not with a loud crash to the floor, but quietly, softly, on to the back of the sofa. Further, those two vases on that table there beside the clock weren’t upset at all by the upheaval. Those vases wobble when one walks across the room, Boyd. No, it won’t do; it won’t do at all.” “You’re saying there wasn’t any struggle at all; that the scene was set, so to speak.” Boyd’s tone was eager. His little gray eyes were alight with interest. Anthony nodded. “Your inference is right.” “I had explained things to myself by saying that the carpet was thick and old Poole rather deaf,” said the detective, “because he did say that he heard a noise like some one walking about. Of course, he just thought it was his master. I’ll wager it wasn’t, though. I’m sure you’re right, sir. I hadn’t noticed the sofa had been shifted. This is a very queer case, sir, very queer!” “It is, or anyhow it feels like that. What about the body, Boyd? Aren’t you going to have it moved?” “Yes, sir, any time now. It was going to be moved before you came; then Jardine wanted to take some more photos. After that, you being here, sir—well, I thought if you _were_ going to have anything to do with the case you might like to see everything in _status quo_, so to speak.” Anthony smiled. “Thanks, Boyd,” he said. “You’re a good chap, you know. This isn’t the first job we’ve done together by any means; but all the same, it’s most refreshing to find you devoid of the pro’s righteous distrust of the amateur.” Boyd smiled grimly. “Oh, I’ve got that all right, sir. But I don’t regard you in that light, if I may say so, though we may disagree before this case is over. And—well, sir, I’ve not forgotten what you did for me that night down at Sohlke’s place in Limehouse——” “Drop it, man, drop it,” Anthony groaned. Boyd laughed. “Very well, sir. Now I’ll go and see about having the body moved upstairs.” “And I,” said Anthony, “shall think—here or in the garden. By the way, when’s the inquest?” “To-morrow afternoon, here,” said Boyd, and left the room. Anthony ruminated. This study of Hoode’s, he reflected, was curious, being in itself the end of the long wing of the house and having, therefore, window or windows in all three sides. As Boyd had said, only one of these windows was open, the farthest from the door of the three which looked out upon the terraced gardens and the river at their foot. All the others—two in the same wall, one in the end wall, and two overlooking the drive—were shut and latched on the inside. The open one was open top and bottom.