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Trent flung himself into the armchair and exhaled a long breath. 'Martin is a great creature,' he said. 'He is far, far better than a play. There is none like him, none, nor will be when our summers have deceased. Straight, too; not an atom of harm in dear old Martin. Do you know, Murch, you are wrong in suspecting that man.'

'I never said a word about suspecting him.' The inspector was taken aback. 'You know, Mr. Trent, he would never have told his story like that if he thought I suspected him.'

'I dare say he doesn't think so. He is a wonderful creature, a great artist; but, in spite of that, he is not at all a sensitive type. It has never occurred to his mind that you, Murch, could suspect him, Martin, the complete, the accomplished. But I know it. You must understand, inspector, that I have made a special study of the psychology of officers of the law. It is a grossly neglected branch of knowledge. They are far more interesting than criminals, and not nearly so easy. All the time I was questioning him I saw handcuffs in your eye. Your lips were mutely framing the syllables of those tremendous words: "It is my duty to tell you that anything you now say will be taken down and used in evidence against you." Your manner would have deceived most men, but it could not deceive me.'

Mr. Murch laughed heartily. Trent's nonsense never made any sort of impression on his mind, but he took it as a mark of esteem, which indeed it was; so it never failed to please him. 'Well, Mr. Trent,' he said, 'you're perfectly right. There's no point in denying it, I have got my eye on him. Not that there's anything definite; but you know as well as I do how often servants are mixed up in affairs of this kind, and this man is such a very quiet customer. You remember the case of Lord William Russell's valet, who went in as usual, in the morning, to draw up the blinds in his master's bedroom, as quiet and starchy as you please, a few hours after he had murdered him in his bed. I've talked to all the women of the house, and I don't believe there's a morsel of harm in one of them. But Martin's not so easy set aside. I don't like his manner; I believe he's hiding something. If so, I shall find it out.'

'Cease!' said Trent. 'Drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy. Let us get back to facts. Have you, as a matter of evidence, anything at all to bring against Martin's story as he has told it to us?'

'Nothing whatever at present. As for his suggestion that Manderson came in by way of the window after leaving Marlowe and the car, that's right enough, I should say. I questioned the servant who swept the room next morning, and she tells me there were gravelly marks near the window, on this plain drugget that goes round the carpet. And there's a footprint in this soft new gravel just outside.' The inspector took a folding rule from his pocket and with it pointed out the traces. 'One of the patent shoes Manderson was wearing that night exactly fits that print; you'll find them,' he added, 'on the top shelf in the bedroom, near the window end, the only patents in the row. The girl who polished them in the morning picked them out for me.'

Trent bent down and studied the faint marks keenly. 'Good!' he said. 'You have covered a lot of ground, Murch, I must say. That was excellent about the whisky; you made your point finely. I felt inclined to shout "Encore!" It's a thing that I shall have to think over.'

'I thought you might have fitted it in already,' said Mr. Murch. 'Come, Mr. Trent, we're only at the beginning of our enquiries, but what do you say to this for a preliminary theory? There's a plan of burglary, say a couple of men in it and Martin squared. They know where the plate is, and all about the handy little bits of stuff in the drawing-room and elsewhere. They watch the house; see Manderson off to bed; Martin comes to shut the window, and leaves it ajar, accidentally on purpose. They wait till Martin goes to bed at twelve-thirty; then they just walk into the library, and begin to sample the whisky first thing. Now