‘Then at–say five-and-twenty past six, Sir James was already dead.’ The chief constable looked at the others. ‘That clock–it was faked, eh? We suspected that all along. Nothing easier than to move the hands to whatever time you wished, but they made a mistake to lay it down on its side like that. Well, that seems to narrow it down to the butler or the valet, and I can’t believe it’s the butler. Tell me, Lady Dwighton, did this man Jennings have any grudge against your husband?’

Laura lifted her face from her hands. ‘Not exactly a grudge, but–well, James told me only this morning that he’d dismissed him. He’d found him pilfering.’

‘Ah! Now we’re getting at it. Jennings would have been dismissed without a character. A serious matter for him.’

‘You said something about a clock,’ said Laura Dwighton. ‘There’s just a chance–if you want to fix the time–James would have been sure to have his little golf watch on him. Mightn’t that have been smashed, too, when he fell forward?’

‘It’s an idea,’ said the colonel slowly. ‘But I’m afraid–Curtis!’

The inspector nodded in quick comprehension and left the room. He returned a minute later. On the palm of his hand was a silver watch marked like a golf ball, the kind that are sold for golfers to carry loose in a pocket with balls.

‘Here it is, sir,’ he said, ‘but I doubt if it will be any good. They’re tough, these watches.’

The colonel took it from him and held it to his ear.

‘It seems to have stopped, anyway,’ he observed.

He pressed with his thumb, and the lid of the watch flew open. Inside the glass was cracked across.

‘Ah!’ he said exultantly.

The hand pointed to exactly a quarter past six.

II

‘A very good glass of port, Colonel Melrose,’ said Mr Quin.

It was half past nine, and the three men had just finished a belated dinner at Colonel Melrose’s house. Mr Satterthwaite was particularly jubilant.

‘I was quite right,’ he chuckled. ‘You can’t deny it, Mr Quin. You turned up tonight to save two absurd young people who were both bent on putting their heads into a noose.’

‘Did I?’ said Mr Quin. ‘Surely not. I did nothing at all.’

‘As it turned out, it was not necessary,’ agreed Mr Satterthwaite. ‘But it might have been. It was touch and go, you know. I shall never forget the moment when Lady Dwighton said, “I killed him.” I’ve never seen anything on the stage half as dramatic.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Mr Quin.

‘Wouldn’t have believed such a thing could happen outside a novel,’ declared the colonel, for perhaps the twentieth time that night.

‘Does it?’ asked Mr Quin.

The colonel stared at him, ‘Damn it, it happened tonight.’