"At best," I replied, "it is a very unpleasant business for the Carysforts." "And at the worst?" he retorted with a chuckle. "Well...!" I remarked dryly. "Do you think they are guilty?" he asked. "I don't see who else..." "Ah!" he broke in, with his usual lack of manners, "that is such a stale argument. One doesn't see who else, therefore one makes up one's mind that so-and-so must be guilty. I'll lay an even bet with any one that out of a dozen cases of miscarriage of justice, I could point to ten that were directly due to that fallacious reasoning. "Now take as an example the Tytherton case, in which you are apparently interested. It was an unprecedented outrage which stirred the busy provincial town to its depths, the victim, Mr. Walter Stonebridge, being one of its most noted solicitors. He had his office in Tytherton High Street, and lived in a small, detached house on the Great West Road. The house stood in the middle of a small garden, and had only one story above the ground floor; the front door opened straight on a long, narrow hall which ran along the full depth of the house. On the left side of this hall there were two doors, one leading to the drawing-room and the other to a small morning-room. At the end of the hall was the staircase, and beyond it, down a couple of steps, there was a tiny dining-room and the usual offices. The back door opened straight on the kitchen, and on the floor above there were four bedrooms and a bathroom. Mr. Walter Stonebridge was a bachelor, and his domestic staff consisted of a married couple--Henning by name--who did all that was necessary for him in the house. "It was on the last evening of February. The weather was fair and bright. The Hennings had gone upstairs to their room as usual at ten o'clock. Mr. Stonebridge was at the time sitting in the morning-room. He was in the habit of sitting up late, reading and writing. On this occasion he told the Hennings to close the shutters and lock the back door as usual, but to leave the front door on the latch as he was expecting a visitor. The Hennings thought nothing of that, as one or two gentlemen--friends, or sometimes clients of Mr. Stonebridge--would now and then drop in late to see him. Anyway, they went contentedly to bed. "A little while later--they could not exactly recollect at what hour, because they had already settled down for the night--they heard the front-door bell, and immediately afterwards Mr. Stonebridge's footsteps along the hall. Then suddenly they heard a crash followed by what sounded like a struggle, then a smothered cry, and finally silence. Henning was out of bed and on the landing with a candle in an instant, and he had just switched on the light there when he heard Mr. Stonebridge's voice calling up to him from below: "It's all right, Henning. I caught my foot in this confounded rug. That's all.' "Henning looked over the bannister, and seeing nothing he shouted down: