Colwall seemed a little surprised. ‘Sturry? What makes you think he might have had a hand in it?’

‘Vulgar prejudice,’ responded Hemingway promptly. ‘He handed me a very dirty look this afternoon, so very likely I’ll pin the murder on to him, if all else fails.’

Inspector Colwall recognised a joke, and laughed. ‘You do talk!’ he said. ‘Myself, I had a hunch it was young Herriard. Ugly-tempered chap, he is.’

‘He’s got the biggest motive,’ conceded Hemingway. ‘Though murder isn’t always committed for high stakes, mind you! Not by a long chalk. There’s young Roydon, wanting money to back his play.’

‘Yes; I went into that before you came down, but it seemed to me a bit unlikely. Of course, Miss Herriard could have done it, I suppose. I shouldn’t think she’d stick at much.’

‘I’m quite willing to arrest her, or Mottisfont, if you’ll just tell me how either of them got into the room,’ said Hemingway.

Colwall shook his head. ‘It’s a mystery, that’s what it is. You don’t think the old lady had anything to do with it, do you?’

‘What, Mrs Joseph Herriard?’ exclaimed Hemingway. ‘Talk about far-fetched ideas! No, I don’t. What would she do it for?’

‘I don’t know,’ Colwall confessed. ‘It only struck me that she hadn’t got an alibi either, and neither you nor I ever suspected her at all. I suppose she might have had a motive.’

‘Well, it hasn’t come to light,’ said Hemingway. ‘What’s more, it won’t help me if it does. I’ve plenty of motives already, not to mention one damaging piece of evidence, in the shape of Stephen’s cigarette-case. Not that it’s any good to me, unless I can discover how the murder was committed.’

‘No, I see that,’ agreed Colwall. ‘And there was a good deal of uncertainty about the cigarette-case, wasn’t there? Seems young Herriard had lent it to Miss Dean, and anyone might have picked it up.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard all that, but I don’t think much of it,’ said Hemingway. ‘People don’t go picking up cigarette-cases that don’t belong to them: at least, not in that kind of society, they don’t. It was identified as Stephen’s, and he owned it; and I haven’t so far heard that anyone else’s finger-prints were found on it.’

‘No, they weren’t,’ said Colwall. ‘There weren’t any finger-prints on it at all, as I remember.’

Hemingway set down his cup and saucer. ‘There must have been some prints! Do you mean they were too blurred to be identified?’

Colwall stroked his chin. ‘I remember seeing the report on it last night, and I’m pretty certain it said there were no marks on it at all.’

‘Look here!’ Hemingway said. ‘On their own admissions, young Herriard and Miss Dean both handled that case! Are you telling me they left no prints?’

‘Well, I’m only repeating what was on the report,’ said Colwall defensively.

‘And you saw that report, and never thought to mention that there was a curious circumstance attached to it! Why wasn’t I shown it?’