A grin dispelled the natural solemnity of his countenance. He picked up the sad remnant of Maud’s book, and took it back to the house with him, to show to the Inspector.

Confronted with the handkerchief, Hemingway showed a disappointing absence of enthusiasm.

‘It’s Roydon’s all right,’ the Sergeant pointed out. ‘It’s got his initial in the corner, and he’s the only R in the house, sir. The blood’s dry, too, you see.’

‘There’s enough of it, at all events,’ remarked Hemingway, dispassionately surveying the handkerchief.

‘I figure he must have wiped that knife with it, sir.’

‘You may be right.’

‘And there’s no doubt he put it in the incinerator this morning, just as the gardener said.’

‘Took his time about getting rid of it, didn’t he?’

The Sergeant frowned. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But maybe he didn’t think it was vital to destroy it while Stephen Herriard was still under suspicion. After all, if he murdered old Herriard, and planted that cigarette-case in the room, he’d be pretty sure he’d diverted suspicion from himself, wouldn’t he? It was you letting it be known that Stephen was more or less in the clear that sort of stampeded him, like you thought it might.’

‘Ah!’ said Hemingway, stirring the handkerchief with his pencil.

A little crestfallen, the Sergeant said: ‘You don’t think it’s important, Chief?’

‘I don’t say that. It may be. Of course, I’m not an expert, but I’d have liked these highly lavish bloodstains to have gone a bit browner. However, I’ll see Roydon as soon as he comes in, and if I don’t get anything out of him we’ll get this tested. Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ said the Sergeant, his slow grin spreading once more over his face. ‘This!’

Hemingway saw the mutilated book in his hand, and ejaculated: ‘You aren’t going to tell me – Well, I’ll be damned!’ He took the book from the Sergeant, and flicked over the scorched pages. ‘I told you so!’ he said. ‘Someone in this house couldn’t take it. I’m bound to say I couldn’t either. Well, it’s your find, my lad. You can give it back to the old lady, and get the credit for a piece of smart detection.’

‘Thank you, Chief, but considering the state it’s in it doesn’t seem to me there’s going to be much credit attached to it!’ Ware retorted. ‘I’d just as soon you gave it back to her.’

‘The mistake you made was in rescuing the thing at all,’ said Hemingway. ‘It just serves you right. You go and give it back to Mrs Herriard, and don’t let me have any backchat about it either!’

The Sergeant sighed, and went off to find Maud. She had by this time escaped from Mrs Dean’s toils, and was knitting in the library, exchanging desultory remarks with Mathilda. Joseph was seated on the broad window-seat with Paula, trying to amuse her with anecdotes of his career on the stage. Paula, who was far too profound an egotist to see anything pathetic in his reminiscences, did not even pretend to be interested. Beyond saying Oh! once or twice in an abstracted voice, she paid no heed to him. Her face wore its most brooding look, and it was obvious that her mind was solely occupied with her own stage-career.