“Do you seriously believe,” said I, “that Eric Coverly had anything whatever to do with the death of his cousin?”

Gatton stirred uneasily in his chair.

“Well,” he answered, “ignoring everything else for the moment, who else benefits by Sir Marcus Coverly’s death?”

It was a poser—­a question which I had dreaded because I had known it to be unanswerable.

“He inherits the title,” continued Gatton, “and on the death of Lady Burnham Coverly he inherits Friars’ Park.  There is some clause or entail, or legal hotchpotch whereby the estate and revenue remain hers during her lifetime.”

“But I understand the estate is mortgaged?”

“That I have to confirm, Mr. Addison,” replied Gatton.  “Sir Eric’s solicitor has no information on the point and that of Sir Marcus’s man of business is inexact.  But even supposing that only the title is concerned, many a man has lost his life for less.  Then you have to consider—­Miss Merlin.”

“In what way?” I demanded

“In relation to the attitude of Sir Marcus.  Jealousy makes men (and women) do strange and desperate things.  The character of Eric Coverly, the new baronet, is a very odd one.”

“He is headstrong and in some respects weak,” I admitted.  “But otherwise he is an ordinary English gentleman, with the traditions of an old name and a public school to back him up.  I tell you, Gatton, it’s nonsense.  His army career alone shows him to be a sound man.”

“Yes,” murmured Gatton; “he was awarded a decoration for distinguished service in Egypt.”

That seemingly simple remark struck me with all the force of a physical blow.  Gatton began quietly to load his pipe, without even glancing in my direction; but the covert significance of his words was all too apparent: 

“Gatton,” I said—­“what the devil are you driving at?”

He slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“What you may term the hocus-pocus side of the case,” he replied, “turns on matters Egyptian, doesn’t it?  Very well.  Who else, that we know about, is associated, or ever has been associated with Egypt?”

“But—­the woman?”

“Ah!” said Gatton.  “Now you are getting down to the depths.  But assuming that the extraordinary characteristics of this visitor of yours can be explained in some way, by deliberate trickery, for example, might she not be a woman whom Eric Coverly met in Egypt?”

I stared silently a while, and then: 

“In short, a rival of Miss Merlin’s?” I suggested.

“Precisely.  The trick with the photograph was just of the kind one would expect from a madly jealous woman.  Everything planned with supreme cunning, but the scene at which the hated rival enters the scheme badly overdone.”

“And you believe Coverly’s silence to be due to the fact that he is shielding some one?”

“Well, that or shielding himself.  What else can it mean?  A man suspected of murder doesn’t hesitate to establish an alibi unless he is in a desperately tight corner.  The exact position of your strange-eyed acquaintance in the case is not apparent to me at the moment, I’ll admit, but I seem to have heard that there have been rare instances of human beings with luminous eyes.”