Sir Arthur shook his head. “I suppose you’re not mad?” he said, smiling. “‘No, not mad, said the monkey.’” There fell a long silence, broken at last by the elder man. “God!” he cried in a whisper. “Let’s get out of this room. Gethryn, it’s horrible! Horrible! Where poor old John was killed—and here we are cracking jokes and laughing!” He took Anthony by the arm and pulled him to the door. They went into the garden through the verandah. By the windows of the study Anthony stopped and stood staring at the creeper-covered wall; staring as he had stared on the afternoon before. Sir Arthur stood at his elbow. “Splendid sight, that creeper,” said Anthony. “_Ampelopsis Veitchii_, isn’t it?” “So you’re a botanist? It may be what you say. I’m afraid it’s just creeper to me.” Anthony, turning, saw Boyd walking towards them, and waved a hand. “Damn!” Sir Arthur growled. “The Scotland Yard man. He arrested the boy. Officious fool!” “Oh, Boyd’s a good chap. I like Boyd. He’s done his best. On the evidence he couldn’t do anything but take Deacon.” “I know, I know,” said Sir Arthur impatiently. “But all the same, he——” He broke off, turning to go. Boyd came up to them. “Good evening, gentlemen.” “Evening, Boyd,” said Anthony. Suddenly, “By Gad!” Sir Arthur cried, and turned a bewildered face upon them. “I didn’t think of that before!” “Think of what, sir?” asked Boyd. “Why, something that may change everything! Look here, that’s the window of my sitting-room up there— the one over the window of the study which you say the murderer must have got in by!” Anthony was silent. Boyd said stolidly: “Well, sir?” “But don’t you see, man? Don’t _you_ see, Gethryn? I was sitting up in my room, by that window, all the time. I should have been bound to hear something. Bound to!” “But you didn’t, sir,” said Boyd. “Ach!” Sir Arthur turned on his heel and flung away from them and into the house. “He’s very upset because he thinks you’ve taken the wrong man, Boyd,” said Anthony. “I know, sir. Do you?” Anthony laughed. “I do, I do. By the way, can I see him?” “You can, sir. He asked for you. That’s really what I came up for. That and the walk.” “Thanks. I’ll take you down in the car. How long before Deacon’s moved to the county jail?” “He’ll be going to-morrow sometime, sir. Afternoon or evening.” They walked in silence to the car. Anthony drove out of the gates and down the hill very slowly. Boyd sighed relief: he knew “the colonel’s” driving of old. “I’m afraid, sir,” he said at last, “that this case has been a disappointment to you, so to speak.” Anthony looked round at him. “Why so fast, Boyd? Why so fast?” After a moment he added: “Pumps not working too well to-day, are they?” The detective gave a rumbling chuckle. “I suppose it was a bit obvious, sir,” he said. “But you’re puzzling me, that you are.” “What am I that I should flummox one of the Big Four? Oh, Fame! Oh, Glory! I stand within your gates.”