"Mark Tufnell, of course," he broke in, dryly. "Didn't you guess? As he could not go with his beloved to the cinema he thought he would spend a happy evening with her. What made him originally go into the office we shall never know. Some trifle no doubt, some message for his employer--it is those sorts of trifles that so often govern the destinies of men. Personally I think that he was very much in the same boat as young Leighton: some trifling irregularities in his accounts. The deceased, speaking so harshly to Mrs. Tufnell that night, first directed my attention to young Tufnell. He didn't want to see any of them that night: he was irritated with Mark quite as much as with Leighton, but out of consideration for the housekeeper whom he valued he said little about her son. Perhaps he had ordered the young man to come to his office; as I said just now, this little point I cannot vouch for. But if I have not succeeded in convincing you that the first visitor at No. 13, Fulton Gardens was Mark Tufnell, that it was he who went out in Mr. Jessup's hat and overcoat, changed hats in the street, and wandered out as far as Walthamstow in order to be rid of the _pièces de conviction_, then you are less intelligent than I have taken you to be. Mark Tufnell, remember, lives in the north of London; he was supposed to have gone to the cinema that night, therefore the people with whom he lodged thought nothing of his coming home late." "That poor mother!" I ejaculated, "I wonder if she suspects the truth." "She knows it," the funny creature said, "you may be sure of that. There was a bond of understanding between those two women, and they never once contradicted each other in their evidence. A worthless young blackguard has been saved from the gallows; my sympathy is not with him, but with the women who put up such a brave fight for his sake." "Do you know what happened to them all subsequently?" I asked. "Not exactly. But I do know that Mr. Seton Jessup in his will left his housekeeper an annuity of £50. I also know that young Tufnell has gone out to Australia, and that if you ever dine with a friend at the Alcyon Club you will notice an exceptionally pretty waitress who will make eyes at all the men. Her name is Ann Weber!" XIII A MOORLAND TRAGEDY §1 The Old Man in the Corner had finished his glass of milk and ceased to munch his bun; from the capacious pocket of his huge tweed coat he extracted a piece of string, and for a while sat contemplating it, with his head on one side, so like one of those bald-headed storks at the Zoo. "I always had a great predilection for that mystery," he said _à propos_ of nothing at all. "It still fascinates me." "What mystery?" I asked; but as usual he took no notice of my question. "It was more romantic than the common crimes of to-day; in fact, I don't know if you will agree with me, but to me it has quite an eighteenth-century atmosphere about it."