Mr. Manderton drew Inspector Humphries and Dr. Redstone into a corner of the room where they conversed in undertones. Bude and Jay had vanished. Dr. Romain turned to Robin Greve, who stood lost in a reverie, staring into the fire. “A clear case of suicide,” he said. “The medical evidence is conclusive on that point. A most amazing affair. I can’t conceive what drove him to it. Why _did_ he do it?” “Ah! why?” said Robin. CHAPTER X. A SMOKING CHIMNEY A Red sun glowed dully through a thin mist when, on the following morning, Robin Greve emerged from the side door into the gardens of Harkings. It was a still, mild day. Moisture from the night’s rain yet hung translucent on the black limbs of the bare trees and glistened like diamonds on the closely cropped turf of the lawn. In the air was a pleasant smell of damp earth. Robin paused an instant outside the door in the library corridor and inhaled the morning air greedily. He had spent a restless, fitful night. His sleep had been haunted by the riddle which, since the previous evening, had cast its shadow over the pleasant house. The mystery of Hartley Parrish’s death obsessed him. If it was suicide,—and the doctors were both positive on the point—the motive eluded him utterly. His mind, trained to logical processes of reasoning by his practice of the law, baulked at the theory. When he thought of Hartley Parrish as he had seen him at luncheon on the day before, striding with his quick, vigorous step into the room, boyishly curious to know what the _chef_ was giving them to eat, devouring his lunch with obvious animal enjoyment, brimful of energy, dominating the table with his forceful, eager personality.... The sound of voices in the library broke in upon his thoughts. Robin raised his head and listened. Some one appeared to be talking in a loud voice ... no, not talking ... rather declaiming. Stepping quietly on the hard gravel path, Robin turned the corner of the house and came into view of the library window. The window-pane gaped, shattered where Horace Trevert had broken the glass on the previous evening when effecting an entrance into the room. Framed in the ragged outline of the splintered glass, bulked the large form of Sergeant Harris. He stood half turned from the window so as to catch the light on a copy of _The Times_ which he held in his red and freckled hands. He was reading aloud in stentorian tones from a leading article. “While this country,” he bawled sonorously, “cannot ... in h’our belief ... hevade ... er ... responsibility ... er ... h’m disquieting sitwation ...” “Dear me!” thought Robin to himself, “what a very extraordinary morning pursuit for our police!” Suddenly the reading was interrupted. Robin heard the library door open. Then Manderton’s voice cried: “That’ll do, thank you, Sergeant!” “Did you ’ear me, sir?” asked the sergeant, who seemed very much relieved to be quit of his task.