There was silence for a moment when Winter ended his recital.

“It is evident,” said Brett, otherwise engaged in making smoke-rings, “that ‘Rabbit Jack’ saw the real murderer.”

“A man like me—­in evening dress!  Who on earth could he be?” was Hume’s natural exclamation.

“We must test this chap’s story,” said Brett.

“How?”

“Easily enough.  There is a garden outside.  Can you bring this human bunny here to-night?”

“I think so.”

“Very well.  Stage him about nine o’clock.  Anything else?”

Mr. Winter pondered a little while; then he addressed Hume hesitatingly: 

“Does Mr. Brett know everything that happened after the murder?”

“I think so.  Yes.”

“Everything!  Say three-quarters of an hour afterwards?”

The effect of this remark on Hume was very pronounced.  His habitual air of reserve gave place to a state of decided confusion.

“What are you hinting at?” he cried, striving hard to govern his voice.

“Well, it must out, sooner or later.  Why did you go to meet Miss Helen Layton in the avenue about 1.30 a.m.—­soon after Sir Alan’s body had been examined by the doctor?’

“Oh, damn it, man, how did you ascertain that?” groaned Hume.

“I knew it all along, but I did not see that it was very material to the case, and I wanted to keep the poor young lady’s name out of the affair as far as possible.  I did not want to suggest that she was an accessory after the crime.”

Hume was blushing like a schoolboy.  He glanced miserably at Brett, but the barrister was still puffing artistic designs in big and little rings.

“Very well.  My reason for concealment disappears now,” he blurted out, for the young man was both vexed and ashamed.  “That wretched night, after she returned home, Helen thought she had behaved foolishly in creating a scene.  She put on a cloak, changed her shoes, and slipped back again to Mrs. Eastham’s, where she met Alan just coming away.  She implored him to make up the quarrel with me.  He apologised for his conduct, and promised to do the same to me when we met.  He explained that other matters had upset his temper that day, and he had momentarily yielded to an irritated belief that everything was against him.  Helen watched him enter the park; she pretended that she was going in to Mrs. Eastham’s.  She could see the lighted windows of the library, and she wondered why he did not go inside, but imagined that at the distance she might easily be mistaken.  At last she ran off to the rectory.  Again she lingered in the garden, devoutly wishing that all might be well between Alan and me.  Then she became conscious that something unusual had taken place, owing to the lights and commotion.  For a long time she was at a loss to conjecture what could have happened.  At last, yielding to curiosity, she came back to the lodge.  The gates were wide