Boyd tried again. “Well, we know a little more now, sir, anyhow. Quite a case for premeditation, so to speak—thanks to you.” Anthony brought himself back to earth. “Yes, yes,” he said. “But hearken again, Boyd. I have yet more to say. Don’t wince, I have really. Here it is. Assuming the reliability, as a witness, of Poole, the old retainer, we know the murderer didn’t come into this room through the door. Nor could he, as you’ve explained, have used the chimney. Remains the one window that was open. Observe, O Boyd, that that window is in full view of a man seated at this table. Now one cannot come through a window into a room at a distance of about two yards from a man seated therein at a table without attracting the attention of that man unless that man is asleep.” “I shouldn’t think Hoode was asleep, sir.” “Exactly. It is known that Hoode was a hard worker. Further, if I’m not mistaken, he’s been more than usually busy just recently—over the new Angora Agreement. I think we can take it for granted he wasn’t asleep when the murderer came in through that window. That leads us to something of real importance, namely, that Hoode was not surprised by the entry of the murderer.” Boyd scratched his head. “’Fraid I don’t quite get you, as the Yanks say, sir.” Anthony looked at him with benevolence. “To make myself clearer, I’ll put it like this: he either (i) expected the murderer—though not, of course, as such—and expected him to enter that way; or (ii) did not expect him to enter that way, but on looking up in surprise saw some one who, though he had entered in that unfamiliar way, was yet so familiar in himself as not to cause Hoode to remain long, if at all, out of his seat. Personally, I think he didn’t leave his chair at all. Is not all this well spoken, Boyd?” “True enough, sir. I think you’re quite right again. I’ve been a fool.” Boyd was dejected. “Of the two views you propounded, so to speak, I think the first’s the right one. The murderer was an outsider, but one the deceased was expecting—and by that entrance.” “And I,” said Anthony, “incline strongly toward my second theory of the unconventional entry of the familiar.” Boyd shook his head. “You’d hardly credit it, sir,” he said solemnly, “but some of these big men get up to very funny games. I’ve had over twenty years in the C.I.D., and I know.” “The mistake you’re making in this case, Boyd,” Anthony said, “is thinking of it as like all your others. From what little I’ve seen so far of this affair it’s much more like a novel than real life, which is mostly dull and hardly ever true. As I asked you before, d’you ever read real detective stories? Gaboriau, for instance?” “Lord, no, sir!” smiled the real detective. “You should.” “Pardon me, sir, but you’re a knock-out at this game yourself and it makes me wonder, so to speak, how you can hold with all that ’tec-tale truck.”