"I am certain that it was. A clever one, I'll admit, and even I was puzzled at the time. I couldn't think who 'Henry' could possibly be. It wasn't young Buckley, that was obvious. The alibi was conclusive as to that: the miscreants who had planned to throw dust in the eyes of the police by trying to fasten a hideous crime on that unfortunate young Buckley set their stage rather too elaborately when they devised the trick about the scarf. By identifying the murderer with the wearer of the scarf, they saved Buckley from the gallows; without it, there might have remained some doubt in the mind of some of the jury. But, of course, it raised a tremendous puzzle. Who was the 'Henry' of Somerset Street? And was it not a curious coincidence that he should be wearing an overcoat similar to the one habitually worn by Henry Buckley and a white carnation, which many friends would at once associate with that unfortunate young man? From the examination of the puzzle to its solution was but a step. I came at once to the conclusion that here was no coincidence, but a deliberate attempt to impersonate Henry Buckley, the man most likely in the eyes of the public to waylay, rob, and even murder a man whom he knew to be in possession of valuable jewellery. Such a deliberate attempt, therefore, argued that Captain Shillington himself must have been in it. 'Good Lord, Henry, what in the world are you doing here?' was obviously intended for any passer-by to hear in the same way that the white carnation was intended for any chance passer-by to pick up. Having established the _mise en scène_, the two scoundrels walked off, having previously provided themselves with a blood-stained hat, which presently Miss Shillington would identify as the property of her brother." "Miss Shillington?" I broke in eagerly, "then you think that the whole Australian family was in the conspiracy? And what about the man Rose?" "The whole family," he rejoined, "only consisted of two. Man and wife most likely." "But the man Rose?" I insisted. "An excellent part, alternately played with remarkable skill by the Captain and his female accomplice." "Do reconstruct the whole thing for me," I pleaded. "I own that I am bewildered." And from my bag I extracted a brand-new piece of string which I handed to him with an engaging smile. Nothing could have pleased the fatuous creature more. With long, claw-like fingers twiddling the string, he began leisurely: "Nothing could be more simple. Captain Shillington takes leave of his fiancée, having her pearls in his pocket. It is then about half-past eleven. Henry Buckley has gone to his club, Shillington having appointed to see him at Mexfield House soon after midnight. There is, therefore, plenty of time. Shillington hurries home, changes his personality into that of James Rose, as he often has done before, and subsequently interviews Henry Buckley on the door-step. You can see that, can't you?" "Easily," I replied.