“Ay, Mr. Tony Collyer,” the inspector said, frowning as he looked over his notes again. “The obvious suspect. Motive and opportunity—neither lacking. But here the question of premeditation comes in again. Young Collyer would not have known he would have the excellent opportunity that really did occur. Would he have come on chance provided with chloroform and rubber gloves? Would he not have fixed up an opportunity when he could have been certain of finding Mr. Bechcombe in? And also when his fiancée, Miss Cecily Hoyle, was out of the way? Then, when he did put his rubber gloves on is a question. According to Miss Hoyle's testimony he had not got them on when she left him. He could hardly bring them out while Mr. Bechcombe was talking to him. No, so far as I can see nothing conclusive with regard to either of these two is to be found, Mr. Steadman. What do you think yourself?”
“Personally I shall find it always a very difficult matter to believe Tony Collyer guilty, strong though the evidence seems against him,” Mr. Steadman said frankly. “Thompson, I must confess, seems a very different proposition. Then we must remember the third person in the case, the lady of the white gloves.”
“The owner of the white glove did not strangle Mr. Bechcombe,” Inspector Furnival said positively. “Though she may have been an accomplice. The experts' evidence decided that the fingers of the hand that killed Mr. Bechcombe were considerably too large to have gone into that white glove.”
“So that's that!” said the barrister. “Well, it is a curious case. It seemed bristling with clues at first. And yet they all seem to lead nowhere.”
“One of them will in time, though,” the inspector remarked confidently. “The thread is in our hands right enough, Mr. Steadman. We shall find the other end before long.”
“You don't mean——” the barrister was beginning when there was an interruption.
There was a knock at the door. Mr. Steadman put up his pince-nez as the inspector opened the door. To their surprise Aubrey Todmarsh stood in the passage. He stepped inside, his face paling as he glanced round the room in which his uncle had met his death.
“Ugh!” He shivered. “There is a terrible atmosphere about this room, inspector. Even if one did not know it, I think one would unconsciously sense the fact that some horrible crime had been committed here.”
“Um, I am not much of a believer in that sort of thing,” Mr. Steadman answered. “It is easy enough to sense crime, as you call it, when you know that it has been committed.”
Aubrey shrugged his shoulders.