“I’m sure Sullivan didn’t say ‘No.’ Have you never observed that an Irishman is incapable of saying yes or no to a plain question? If you say, Has the rain stopped, he won’t say Yes, or No; he’ll say, It has, or It hasn’t. The explanation of that is a perfectly simple one: there is no native word for either in Irish, any more than there is in Latin. And that in its turn throws a very important light on the Irish character——” “Oh, go and throw an important light on your grandmother’s ducks,” said Reeves. “I want to hear about this interview. Was he telling the truth, d’you think?” “From his manner, I thought not. So, when his back was turned, I made bold to enter the house and take a look round for myself.” And he described the evening’s entertainment in detail. “By Jove, you are warming to the part,” said Marryatt. “I should like to see you get run in by the police, Gordon.” “You say,” Reeves interrupted, “that you don’t think he was there yesterday, on the Tuesday, that is, because he hadn’t taken the letter away. He went off, then, on Monday, but when he went off he took with him all that a man normally takes with him if he’s going to sleep in a different house that night, plus a piece of soap and a towel, which are not things one usually carries about in one’s luggage?” “That’s the best I can make of it,” said Gordon. “And the photograph—it might be an accident, of course, but I feel convinced that he put that in his luggage at the last moment.” “And that’s frightfully important,” said Reeves, “because it obviously means that on Monday, before anything happened to Brotherhood, Davenant was reckoning on leaving home for some little time; and not returning immediately to wherever it is he lives ordinarily, because he must keep collars and things there. But he also thought he might be away for some longish time, or he wouldn’t have worried to take the photograph with him. What was the frame like?” “Quite modern; no maker’s name on it.” “I’m afraid that means the murder must have been a premeditated one,” put in Marryatt. “I hope it’s not uncharitable to say so, but I never did like Davenant. I don’t think I’m ordinarily a person of very narrow religious views, and I’ve known Romans that were quite easy to get on with. But Davenant was a person of quite ungovernable temper, you must remember that.” “His ungovernable temper would be much more important,” objected Gordon, “if the murder were not a premeditated one.” “But it’s not only that,” persisted Marryatt. “To me, there was always something sinister about him; he had fits of melancholy, and would rail at the people and the politicians he didn’t like in a way that was almost frightening. Surely I’m not alone in that impression?” “What did Davenant look like?” asked Carmichael suddenly. “Good Lord,” said Reeves, “you ought to remember that well enough. You must have met him down here pretty well every week-end, and he was quite well known.”