He began to review the personal element in the light of this new revelation. How did it help? If Jefferson was an honest man and would only kill because nothing short of killing would meet some unknown case, then what was most likely to have produced such a state of affairs? What is the mainspring that actuates three quarters of such drastic deeds? Well, the answer to that was obvious enough. A woman.
How did that apply in this case? Could Jefferson be in love with some woman, whose happiness or peace had been threatened in some mysterious way by Stanworth himself, and if so, who was the woman? Lady Stanworth? Mrs. Plant? Roger uttered an involuntary exclamation. Mrs. Plant!
That, at any rate, would fit in with some of the puzzling facts. The powder on the arm of the couch, for instance, and the wet handkerchief.
Roger’s imagination began to ride free. Mrs. Plant was in the library with Stanworth; he was bullying her, or something. Perhaps he was trying to force some course of action upon her which was repugnant to her. In any case, she weeps and implores him. He is adamant. She hides her face against the arm of the couch and goes on weeping. Jefferson enters, sees at a glance what is happening and kills Stanworth in the madness of his passion with as little compunction as one would feel towards a rat. Mrs. Plant looks on in horror; tries to interfere, perhaps, but without effect. As soon as the thing is done she becomes as cool as ice and sets the stage for suicide.
Roger jumped to his feet and leaned out over the sill.
“It fits!” he murmured excitedly. “It all fits in!”
Glancing downwards, he noticed that the morning-room light had been extinguished and made a note of the time. It was past one. He sank back in his chair and began to consider whether the other pieces of the puzzle would slip as neatly into this general scene—the safe incident, the change of attitude, Lady Stanworth, and so on. No, this was not going to be quite so easy.
At the end of the hour he was still uncertain. The main outline still seemed convincing enough, but all the details appeared hardly so glib.
“I’m getting addled,” he murmured aloud, as he rose from the chair. “Better give this side of it a rest for a little.”
He made his way softly out of the room and crept along the passage to Alec’s bedroom.