“Did you think to inquire,” I asked at last, “if any one knew where Mr. Clavering had spent the evening of the murder?”
“Yes; but with no good result. It was agreed he went out during the evening; also that he was in his bed in the morning when the servant came in to make his fire; but further than this no one seemed posted.”
“So that, in fact, you gleaned nothing that would in any way connect this man with the murder except his marked and agitated interest in it, and the fact that a niece of the murdered man had written a letter to him?”
“That is all.”
“Another question; did you hear in what manner and at what time he procured a newspaper that evening?”
“No; I only learned that he was observed, by more than one, to hasten out of the dining-room with the Post in his hand, and go immediately to his room without touching his dinner.”
“Humph! that does not look—-”
“If Mr. Clavering had had a guilty knowledge of the crime, he would either have ordered dinner before opening the paper, or, having ordered it, he would have eaten it.”
“Then you do not believe, from what you have learned, that Mr. Clavering is the guilty party?”
Mr. Gryce shifted uneasily, glanced at the papers protruding from my coat pocket and exclaimed: “I am ready to be convinced by you that he is.”