“So someone who sees himself as the hand of God, striking down those who have sinned?” Darcy asked. “Obviously someone with a clever brain to carry out these things and make them look like accidents.”

“But not all that well educated,” I said. “Remember he mixed up ‘lay’ and ‘lie.’ His six geese were not a-laying, they were a-lying.”

“Poetic license, my sweet. He couldn’t make everything fit the poem exactly, could he?”

The cold wind stung my face as the Alvis flew along the lane. I shivered, partly with cold and partly with apprehension. “We have no proof that these were all intended victims.”

“Oh, I think we have to assume that they all were, because we know that some of them were. Freddie Partridge, for example. His death was not only planned, but planned elaborately to happen so that the twelve days would finish on New Year’s Eve.”

“Not the correct twelve days of Christmas, by the way,” I interrupted. “They are supposed to start on Christmas Day and finish on Twelfth Night.”

“Then the killer must have had a reason for starting when he did. Maybe when he knew everybody would be assembled for the house party.” He paused. “I wonder how they managed to get Freddie Partridge into the pear tree. And look at the trouble the killer went to to finish off poor Gladys Tripp. That took skill. The man is good with his hands as well as his brain. And brazen enough to risk going into a telephone exchange in the middle of a busy town. A formidable opponent.”

“And who, one has to presume, was at the ball last night, waiting for the right moment when Mr. Sechrest stood beside the candelabra.”

“My aunt will have the guest list. We can hand that to the police.”

“I don’t suppose it would have been too hard to sneak in unnoticed. There was that gorilla. Nobody knew who was in that costume.”

“We have to assume it was the same gorilla suit we saw hanging up in the attic. Maybe someone in the family knows who borrowed it. Maybe someone did leave a clue inside—a strand of hair or the smell of a particular talcum powder, for example.”

“That’s a long shot,” I said. “I think our best bet is motive. Why did he want to kill these people?”

“Not just for fun—unless he chose Freddie Partridge for his name and the method of killing was more important than the victim. But that would indicate a true madman and I don’t know how one begins to trap such a person.”

We had been climbing a long, winding slope and came suddenly to a steep bend at the crest. “Didn’t see that coming,” Darcy said as he swung the motorcar around it, faster than he intended.