Anthony said: “So far, the case against Deacon is, I assume: one, that in his possession were found bank-notes for a hundred pounds proved as having been drawn by Hoode from his bank on the morning of the murder; two, that his explanation that this money was given to him by Hoode as a birthday present was neither regarded as at all probable nor supported by any witness; three, that his explanation as to his whereabouts during the time within which the murder was committed was both unsatisfactory and entirely uncorroborated; four, that he attempted to mislead officers of the law by means of an alibi which he knew to be false; five, that in view of his size, strength, length of leg, and the fact that every one else for miles round appears to be accounted for, he seems the most likely person; and six, that his finger-prints were found on the wood-rasp with which the deed was done.” “Look here,” said Hastings, “if you were at the inquest, what’s all the palaver about?” “I wasn’t, and you’ll see. Some of this I knew already, some I guessed. Wonderful, isn’t it?” Margaret leaned forward. “But who do you think did do it, Mr. Gethryn? Do you suspect any one?” “Every one in the world,” said Anthony. “Except Deacon, you, James Masterson, and one other. But I look first at the household; just as a matter of interest like.” He ticked off names on his fingers. “The butler Poole, the chauffeur Wright, Martha Forrest the cook, Robert Belford the other man-servant; Elsie Syme, Mabel Smith, housemaids; Lily Ingram the kitchenmaid, and one Thomas Diggle, gardener. Also the sister of the corpse, Sir Arthur Digby-Coates, and Mrs. Mainwaring. And there we have the ‘’ole ruddy issue, incloodin’ the ’eads.’” “Shades of Pelman!” Hastings was moved to exclaim. “And,” said Anthony benignantly, “what about ’em all? Their stories, their behaviour?”