“We will walk down the drive,” she said to the detective, who, rather astonished, had followed her. “We can talk freely out of doors.” They took a dozen steps in silence. Then she said: “Who was it speaking to Mr. Parrish in the library?” “Undoubtedly Mr. Greve,” replied the man without hesitation. “Why undoubtedly?” asked the girl. “It could have been no one else. We know that he left you hot to get at Mr. Parrish and have words with him. Bude heard them talking with voices raised aloud....” “But if the door were locked?” “Mr. Parrish may have opened it and locked it again, Mr. Greve getting out by the window. But there are no traces of that ... one would look to find marks on the paint on the inside. Besides, a little test we made this morning suggests that Mr. Greve spoke to Mr. Parrish through the window....” “Was the window open?” “Yes, Miss, it probably was. The fire had been smoking in the library. Mr. Parrish had complained to Bude about it. Besides, we have found Mr. Parrish’s finger-prints on the inside of the window-frame. Outside we found other finger-prints ... Sir Horace’s. Sir Horace was good enough to allow his to be taken.” The girl looked at the detective quickly. “Were there any other finger-prints except Horace’s on the outside?” she asked. Mr. Manderton shook his head. “No, Miss,” he answered. They had reached the lodge-gates at the beginning of the drive and turned to retrace their steps to the house. “Then we shall never know exactly why Mr. Parrish did this thing?” hazarded Mary. Mr. Manderton darted her a surreptitious glance. “We shall see about that,” he said. There was menace in his voice. Mary Trevert stopped. She put her hand on the detective’s arm. “Mr. Manderton,” she said, “if you are satisfied, then, believe me, I am!” The detective bowed. “Miss Trevert,” he said,—and he spoke perfectly respectfully though his words were blunt,—“I can well believe that!” The girl looked up quickly. She scanned his face rather apprehensively. “What do you mean?” she asked, “I don’t understand....” “I mean,” was the detective’s answer, given in his quiet, level voice, “that when you attempted to mislead Inspector Humphries you did nobody any good!” The girl bent her head without replying, and in silence they regained the house. At the house door they parted, Mary going indoors while the detective remained standing on the drive. Very deliberately he produced a short briar pipe, cut a stub of dark plug tobacco from a flat piece he carried in his pocket, crammed the tobacco into his pipe, and lit it. Reflectively he blew a thin spiral of smoke into the still air. “_He_ told me about that fat butler’s evidence,” he said to himself; “_he_ put me wise about that window being open; _he_ gave me the office about the paint on the finger-nails of Mr. H.P.” He ticked off each point on his fingers with the stem of his pipe. “Why?” said Mr. Manderton aloud, addressing a laurel-bush. CHAPTER XIII. JEEKES