I cannot determine that point now.  Assuredly it gave the opportunity to commit a theft.  Something was stolen from the secretaire.  A bold rascal, to force a drawer whilst another man was in the room!  Did he fear the consequences if he were caught?  I think not.  He succeeded in his object, and went off, but before he reached the gates he saw Miss Layton, whom he did not know, talking to the baronet.  He secreted himself until the baronet entered the park alone.  For some reason, he made his presence known, and walked with Sir Alan to the lawn outside the window, still retaining in his hand the small knife used to prise open the lock.  There was a short and vehement dispute.  Possibly the baronet guessed the object of this unexpected appearance.  There may have been a struggle.  Then the knife was sent home, with such singular skill that the victim fell without a word, a groan, to arouse attention.  The murderer made off down the avenue, but he was far too cold-blooded to run away and encounter unforeseen dangers.  No; he waited among the trees to ascertain what would happen when his victim was discovered, and frame his plans accordingly.  It was then that he saw Helen Layton and David Hume.  As soon as the news of the murder spread abroad the dance broke up.  Amidst the wondering crowd, slowly dispersing in their carriages, he could easily slip away unseen, for the police, of course, were sure that David Hume killed his cousin.  Don’t you see, Winter?”

The inspector did not see.

“You are making up a fine tale, Mr. Brett,” he said doggedly, “but I’m blessed if I can follow your reasoning.”

“No, of course not.  Eighteen months of settled conviction are not to be dispelled in an instant.  But accept my theory.  This man, the guilty man, must have resided in Stowmarket for some hours, if not days.  Many people saw him.  He could not live in Sleagill, where even the village dogs would suspect him.  But the addle-headed police, ready to handcuff David Hume, never thought of inquiring about strangers who came and went at Stowmarket in those days.  Stowmarket is a metropolis, a wilderness of changeful beings, to a country policeman.  It has a market-day, an occasional drunken man—­life is a whirl in Stowmarket.  Fortunately, people have memories.  At that time you did not wear a beard, Hume.”

“No,” was the reply, “though I never told you that.”

“Of course you told me, many times.  Did not your acquaintances fail to recognise you?  Had not Mrs. Capella to look twice at you before she knew you?  Now, Winter, start out.  Ascertain, in each hotel in the town, if they had any strange guests about the period of the murder.  There is a remote chance that you may learn something.  Describe Mr. Hume without a beard, and hint at a reward if information is forthcoming.  Money quickens the agricultural intellect.”

The detective, doubting much, obeyed.  Hume, asking if there was any reason why he should not drive back to Sleagill for an hour before dinner, was sarcastically advised to go a good deal farther.  Indeed, the sight of that tiny type-written slip had stirred Brett to volcanic activity.