“Yes, I think I ought to tell you this. Mr. Davenant heard of the bankruptcy—or the strong probability of it—beforehand, and wrote to warn me. So I went up to London to see Mr. Davenant, and came back that same afternoon. He wanted to take me back to Binver on the earlier train, but I wouldn’t let him—I didn’t want to be seen travelling with him. The result was that he travelled on that fatal train with my husband, and so drew on himself the suspicion of murder. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.” “Did Davenant hint to you at all that he meant to see Brotherhood about it?” “No, never; he said there was still hope that my husband would stick to his word like a decent man.” “There’s one other question I want to ask you, a rather odd one. Have you any reason to think that Davenant was carrying a golf-ball in his pocket when he came up on Tuesday afternoon?” “He might be, of course. But he would hardly have mentioned it, would he?” “No: only I had a special reason for asking. Well, Miss Rendall-Smith, I’ll do my best, and if I want any more information I suppose I can come over and see you. Are you on the telephone?” “Yes; it’s Binver 35. Thank you so much, Mr. Reeves; I shall expect great things of you,” and he showed her out, still smiling encouragement. “That’s a damned fine woman,” he said to himself as he shut the door after her. Chapter XVII By which Train? He met Marryatt on his way upstairs—Marryatt looking pained, as he always did when bad news went round. “I must congratulate you on your driving, Reeves. It’s all over the Club. But when I think of that poor fellow Davenant—I wonder now, do you think perhaps the jury will find Davenant was insane? Why do we always assume it’s a madman’s act to take one’s own life, when it’s surely a far more desperate thing to take anybody else’s? Did you think, from what you saw of Davenant, that he was in mental health?” “My dear Marryatt,” said Reeves, “you’re jumping to conclusions again. The police have arrested Davenant, because his movements since the time of the murder have been suspicious, and he has got to account for them. But there isn’t any positive case against him as far as I know.” “I’m afraid the facts are only too clear,” said Marryatt, shaking his head. “A man doesn’t conceal himself so carefully unless there’s a guilty conscience behind it. But I still ask myself, was it a sane man’s act?” Reeves was a little disappointed to find the assumption of Davenant’s guilt so universal. People, he felt, were confoundedly illogical. He went to look for Carmichael, in the hope that he might have some new illuminating theories, but Gordon discouraged him. “Carmichael says he’s sick of the whole thing, and he’s going back to golf. He speaks quite vindictively of Davenant, and really, I think, wants to see him hanged for not having been Brotherhood after all. It’s an odd thing, human nature.”