Murchison had consulted him with the view of identifying Mrs Spencer and George Dutton with the Norah and George Burton of those far-off days at Blankfield, and he had identified them as the same persons. He had then handed over the Major to the astute Parkinson, who would find out as much as he could with regard to the present relations between the precious pair. Bryant had been very busy of late, and he had almost dismissed the Murchison episode from his mind. But when the Major had completed his investigations he would undoubtedly take steps to turn such a scheming and unscrupulous adventuress out of her husband's house. As to the way in which he would proceed to accomplish that purpose, Bryant, of course, had no knowledge. Neither did he know which Murchison would approach first, the husband or the wife. Perhaps both together. One thing stood out pretty clearly, from the evidence of Iris Deane, that she had met Murchison alone at the house in Cathcart Square a few days before the discovery of the dead body. Another thing also stood out equally clearly, that the dead man bore a remarkable likeness to Reginald Davis. If not, Caroline Masters would not have dared to perjure herself as she had done. And he himself had recognised the superficial resemblance between the two men. Assuming that it was a murder, and not a suicide, and Bryant was beginning to incline, like Davis, to the former theory, why had the murderer fixed upon the name of Reginald Davis, and forged a letter to the Coroner? He must have been somebody who had known Davis at some time, and was acquainted with his handwriting. Like Caroline Masters, he must have been inclined to do the hunted fugitive a good turn, and have trusted to his gratitude to keep a silent tongue. An hour's steady thinking had cleared his brain. The conclusions he arrived at were as follows: Hugh Murchison had been murdered by somebody, and buried as a suicide under the name of Reginald Davis. The next question was who was the murderer, and what was the motive for committing the murder? Here he could make a pretty shrewd guess. If Murchison had gone about his mission in a straightforward, but rather blundering, fashion the motive was clear enough. With Bryant to think was to act. Davis was having a week's holiday in London, staying with his sister, Mrs Masters. That same afternoon the young man was again in the Inspector's room, in response to an urgent summons on the telephone. "Now, Mr Davis, I have been thinking deeply over this rather complicated affair of Cathcart Square, and I am beginning to see a streak or two of daylight. I told you this morning I know a bit more about Major Murchison than you do, and there is just a chance you might help me. I take it you have had a somewhat adventurous career, your sister admitted as much at the inquest. She said in fact that you had been the black sheep of the family."