For the first time Martin’s self-possession wavered. He took up the decanter quickly, tilted it before his eyes, and then stared amazedly at the others. He said slowly: “There’s not much short of half a bottle gone out of this since I last set eyes on it—and that was that Sunday night.” “Nobody in the house, I suppose?” suggested Trent discreetly. “Out of the question!” replied Martin briefly; then he added, “I beg pardon, sir, but this is a most extraordinary thing to me. Such a thing never happened in all my experience of Mr. Manderson. As for the women-servants, they never touch anything, I can answer for it; and as for me, when I want a drink I can help myself without going to the decanters.” He took up the decanter again and aimlessly renewed his observation of the contents, while the inspector eyed him with a look of serene satisfaction, as a master contemplates his handiwork. Trent turned to a fresh page of his notebook, and tapped it thoughtfully with his pencil. Then he looked up and said, “I suppose Mr. Manderson had dressed for dinner that night?” “Certainly, sir. He had on a suit with a dress-jacket, what he used to refer to as a Tuxedo, which he usually wore when dining at home.” “And he was dressed like that when you saw him last?” “All but the jacket, sir. When he spent the evening in the library, as usually happened, he would change it for an old shooting-jacket after dinner, a light-coloured tweed, a little too loud in pattern for English tastes, perhaps. He had it on when I saw him last. It used to hang in this cupboard here”—Martin opened the door of it as he spoke—“along with Mr. Manderson’s fishing-rods and such things, so that he could slip it on after dinner without going upstairs.” “Leaving the dinner-jacket in the cupboard?” “Yes, sir. The housemaid used to take it upstairs in the morning.” “In the morning,” Trent repeated slowly. “And now that we are speaking of the morning, will you tell me exactly what you know about that? I understand that Mr. Manderson was not missed until the body was found about ten o’clock.” “That is so, sir. Mr. Manderson would never be called, or have anything brought to him in the morning. He occupied a separate bedroom. Usually he would get up about eight and go round to the bathroom, and he would come down some time before nine. But often he would sleep till nine or ten o’clock. Mrs. Manderson was always called at seven. The maid would take in tea to her. Yesterday morning Mrs. Manderson took breakfast about eight in her sitting-room as usual, and every one supposed that Mr. Manderson was still in bed and asleep, when Evans came rushing up to the house with the shocking intelligence.” “I see,” said Trent. “And now another thing. You say you slipped the lock of the front door before going to bed. Was that all the locking-up you did?”