The voice stopped dead in mid-tone. There was a sharp, nerve-wracking crash as a pipe fell on the floor-boards. Marryatt was standing in the doorway as if transfixed, staring at the oaken stick, his face distorted with terror. Half in excitement, half in relief, Reeves drew a deep breath, which came out with a slight whistle—he must be careful not to do that again, or he might betray his presence. . . . No, precaution was needless. Marryatt had turned; he strode in silence down the passage like a man pursued, and they heard his door shut behind him, the key turn in the lock. Very cautiously, Reeves and Gordon pushed aside the settee which blocked the entrance of the passage, and stepped out into the room. Marryatt had left his pipe where it lay, had not turned off the light as he went out. “Now,” said Reeves, “what d’you make of Marryatt’s innocence?” “I’m going along to his room,” said Gordon. “No, look here, you mustn’t do that. We haven’t decided what we’re going to say to him, what we’re to do about it. Leave him alone for the present.” “I’m not going in,” said Gordon. He tiptoed along the passage outside, till he came opposite Marrayatt’s door, and stood irresolute. Then suddenly he heard a muffled voice from inside. “Oh, my God!” and again, “Oh, my God!” He tiptoed back again, his face grave. “Look here, Reeves, I can’t understand it. I tell you, I can’t understand it.” “It doesn’t much matter whether we understand it or not; the point is, what to do about it? We can have explanations later on. But I daren’t go to a man and say, ‘Look here, are you a murderer?’ Besides, I know he is one. I can’t simply tell the police what I know, and leave them to get on with it; it seems so mean. Besides, I don’t think I want anything to happen to Marryatt. Only I’ve promised Miss Rendall-Smith that I’ll do my best to get Davenant off. What am I to do?” “If you feel like that—I suppose you wouldn’t trust me to talk to him?” “It’s awfully good of you, but you know, I feel it’s up to me. I must form my own conclusions.” “Then, if I were you, I’d write him a letter, simply pointing out that there are certain actions of his which you can’t quite explain, and asking him to explain them. Tell him you’re still worried over Brotherhood’s murder, and feel that perhaps he may be concealing something, from whatever motive, which might lead you to the truth if you knew about it. Reeves, I’m sure the man isn’t a murderer: you only want to get him to explain things.” “Yes, but the whole business hangs together, I can’t tell him how I formed my suspicions without telling him the whole of the evidence I’ve got; and that means putting it to him straight out. I must see that he manages to exculpate Davenant; as long as he does that, I don’t mind if he goes abroad—I don’t mind giving him time to get away. But I must show him where he stands, and I must get a confession out of him.” “But the thing’s impossible!”