Bill was silent for a long time.  Then, puffing at his pipe, he said slowly, “Has Cayley shot himself?”

Antony shrugged his shoulders.

“Poor devil,” said Bill.  “It was decent of you to give him a chance.  I’m glad you did.”

“I couldn’t help liking Cayley in a kind of way, you know.”

“He’s a clever devil.  If you hadn’t turned up just when you did, he would never have been found out.”

“I wonder.  It was ingenious, but it’s often the ingenious thing which gets found out.  The awkward thing from Cayley’s point of view was that, though Mark was missing, neither he nor his body could ever be found.  Well, that doesn’t often happen with a missing man.  He generally gets discovered in the end; a professional criminal; perhaps not—­but an amateur like Mark!  He might have kept the secret of how he killed Mark, but I think it would have become obvious sooner or later that he had killed him.”

“Yes, there’s something in that ....  Oh, just tell me one thing.  Why did Mark tell Miss Norbury about his imaginary brother?”

“That’s puzzled me rather, too, Bill.  It may be that he was just doing the Othello business—­painting himself black all over.  I mean he may have been so full of his appearance as Robert that he had almost got to believe in Robert, and had to tell everybody.  More likely, though, he felt that, having told all of you at the house, he had better tell Miss Norbury, in case she met one of you; in which case, if you mentioned the approaching arrival of Robert, she might say, ’Oh, I’m certain he has no brother; he would have told me if he had,’ and so spoil his joke.  Possibly, too, Cayley put him on to it; Cayley obviously wanted as many people as possible to know about Robert.”

“Are you going to tell the police?”

“Yes, I suppose they’ll have to know.  Cayley may have left another confession.  I hope he won’t give me away; you see, I’ve been a sort of accessory since yesterday evening.  And I must go and see Miss Norbury.”

“I asked,” explained Bill, “because I was wondering what I should say to—­to Betty.  Miss Calladine.  You see, she’s bound to ask.”

“Perhaps you won’t see her again for a long, long time,” said Antony sadly.

“As a matter of fact, I happen to know that she will be at the Barringtons.  And I go up there to-morrow.”

“Well, you had better tell her.  You’re obviously longing to.  Only don’t let her say anything for a day or two.  I’ll write to you.”

“Righto!”

Antony knocked the ashes out of his pipe and got up.

“The Barringtons,” he said.  “Large party?”

“Fairly, I think.”

Antony smiled at his friend.

“Yes.  Well, if any of ’em should happen to be murdered, you might send for me.  I’m just getting into the swing of it.”