“How many of them did you try?”
“All three of them.”
“Sure of that, sir?”
“I’m in the habit of being sure. Why do you ask?”
“That’s a funny thing,” said the superintendent.
“What’s a funny thing?”
“When the crime was discovered this morning, the middle one was open—not latched, that is to say.”
“Whew!” said Anthony, sinking down on the window seat, and taking out his cigarette case. “That’s rather a blow. That opens up quite a different aspect of the case. It leaves us two alternatives. Either he was killed by some one in the house, and that some one unlatched the window after I had gone to make it look like an outside job—incidentally with me as Little Willie—or else, not to mince matters, I’m lying. I dare say you incline to the second possibility, but, upon my honour, you’re wrong.”
“Nobody’s going to leave this house until I’m through with them, I can tell you that,” said Superintendent Battle grimly.
Anthony looked at him keenly.