“And what about Jefferson?” Alec asked quietly.
“Ah, yes, Jefferson. Well, I suppose this affair of the letter and the fact that he did not break in on Mrs. Plant and Stanworth in the library that night and consequently was not helped by that lady—I suppose all this gives him credit for rather more brains than I had been willing to concede him; but otherwise I don’t see that his position is affected.”
“You mean, you still think he killed Stanworth?”
“If he didn’t, can you tell me who did?”
Alec shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve told you I’m convinced you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s no good going on repeating it.”
“Not a bit,” Roger said cheerfully.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Exactly what I was before. Have a little chat with him.”
“Rather ticklish business, isn’t it? I mean, when you’re so very uncertain of your ground.”
“Possibly. But so was Mrs. Plant for that matter. I think I shall be able to handle friend Jefferson all right. I shall be perfectly candid with him, and I’m willing to wager a small sum that I shall be back here within half an hour with his confession in my pocket.”