“And only Stanworth’s death could have freed you, so to speak?” Roger mused. “Very opportune, wasn’t it?”
“Very,” Jefferson replied laconically. “You think I forced him somehow to shoot himself, don’t you?”
“Well, I—I——” Roger stammered, completely taken aback.
Jefferson smiled grimly. “Knew you must have some comic idea in your head. Just seen what you’ve been driving at. Well, you can rest assured I didn’t. For the simple reason that nobody or no threats on earth could have made him do a thing like that. Why he did it, Heaven only knows. Complete mystery to me. Can’t fathom it. Thank God he did, though!”
“You don’t think he might have been—murdered?” Roger suggested tentatively.
“Murdered? How could he have been? Out of the question under the circumstances. Besides, he took jolly good care of that. I’d have murdered him myself before this—hundreds of times!—if I hadn’t known it would make things worse than before all round.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that. Kept the evidence addressed to the interested parties, didn’t he? I suppose everyone knew that?”
“You bet they did. He rubbed it in. No, Stanworth never meant to be murdered. But my God, I had a fright when I saw him lying there dead and the safe locked.”
“You were going to try and open it when I interrupted you yesterday morning, of course?”
“Yes, properly caught out then,” Jefferson smiled ruefully. “But even if I’d found the keys, I didn’t know the combination. Lord, what a relief that note of his was. You know about that, I suppose?”