Late that afternoon he called on Hewitt to explain matters.  “We’ve got Goujon,” he said, gloomily, “but there’s a difficulty.  He’s got two friends who can swear an alibi.  Rameau was seen alive at half-past one on Saturday, and the girl found him dead about three.  Now, Goujon’s two friends, it seems, were with him from one o’clock till four in the afternoon, with the exception of five minutes when the girl saw him, and then he left them to take a key or something to the housekeeper before finally leaving.  They were waiting on the landing below when Goujon spoke to the housemaid, heard him speaking, and had seen him go all the way up to the housekeeper’s room and back, as they looked up the wide well of the staircase.  They are men employed near the place, and seem to have good characters.  But perhaps we shall find something unfavorable about them.  They were drinking with Goujon, it seems, by way of ‘seeing him off.’”

“Well,” Hewitt said, “I scarcely think you need trouble to damage these men’s characters.  They are probably telling the truth.  Come, now, be plain.  You’ve come here to get a hint as to whether my theory of the case helps you, haven’t you?”

“Well, if you can give me a friendly hint, although, of course, I may be right, after all.  Still, I wish you’d explain a bit as to what you meant by looking at a map and all that mystery.  Nice thing for me to be taking a lesson in my own business after all these years!  But perhaps I deserve it.”

“See, now,” quoth Hewitt, “you remember what map I told you to look at?”

“The West Indies.”

“Right!  Well, here you are.”  Hewitt reached an atlas from his book-shelf.  “Now, look here:  the biggest island of the lot on this map, barring Cuba, is Hayti.  You know as well as I do that the western part of that island is peopled by the black republic of Hayti, and that the country is in a degenerate state of almost unexampled savagery, with a ridiculous show of civilization.  There are revolutions all the time; the South American republics are peaceful and prosperous compared to Hayti.  The state of the country is simply awful—­read Sir Spenser St. John’s book on it.  President after president of the vilest sort forces his way to power and commits the most horrible and bloodthirsty excesses, murdering his opponents by the hundred and seizing their property for himself and his satellites, who are usually as bad, if not worse, than the president himself.  Whole families—­men, women, and children—­are murdered at the instance of these ruffians, and, as a consequence, the most deadly feuds spring up, and the presidents and their followers are always themselves in danger of reprisals from others.  Perhaps the very worst of these presidents in recent times has been the notorious Domingue, who was overthrown by an insurrection, as they all are sooner or later, and compelled to fly the country.  Domingue and his nephews, one of whom was Chief Minister, while in power committed the cruellest bloodshed, and many members of the opposite party sought refuge in a small island lying just to the north of Hayti, but were sought out there and almost exterminated.  Now, I will show you that island on the map.  What is its name?”