“There’s one thing I don’t quite see,” Alec said slowly. “According to you the shot that killed Stanworth was fired from the other man’s revolver. Then how is it that the bullet they took out of his head fitted the empty shell in his own revolver?”
Roger’s face fell. “Hullo!” he exclaimed. “That never occurred to me.”
“I thought it couldn’t have,” said Alec complacently. “That rather knocks your theory on the head, doesn’t it?”
“It’s one to you, Watson, certainly,” Roger smiled a little ruefully.
“Ah!” observed Alec deeply. He was evidently not going to spoil the impression he had just made by any rash remarks. Alec was one of those fortunate people who know just when to stop.
“Still, after all,” Roger said slowly, “that’s only a matter of detail, isn’t it? My version of how it happened may be quite wrong. But that doesn’t affect the main issue, which is that it was done.”
“In other words, the fact of murder is definitely established, you think, although you don’t know how it was carried out?” Alec asked thoughtfully.
“Precisely.”
“Humph! And do you still think the motive was robbery?”
“I do. And—— By Jove!” Roger stopped suddenly in his stride and turned exultantly to his companion. “That may account for Mrs. Plant, too!”