"Yes, because he was interested in getting to bed. It was about ten-thirty."
"Um. He was left here—alone—with a decanter of whisky and a troubled mind. It's safe to assume that he took a drink or so. Tell me, was your brother-in-law an impulsive sort of person—liable to outbursts of passion—inclined to do things in a headlong, reckless way?"
"A very good description indeed."
"I've been wondering how he happened to be out in the garden so opportunely for the murderer. If he was sitting in this room, looked out the window and spotted the fellow hanging around, his first impulse might have been to rush from the house and tackle him. Does that impress you as being a likely scenario, Miss Copley?"
"Very. To tell you the truth, when he was really angry I'm inclined to think he was scarcely responsible for his actions."
"His enemy knew that, you may be sure, and counted on it to his own advantage. Now, another question about the matter of time. You told me, Krech, that the hour of the murder had been approximately set at eleven. Do you know how that was determined?"
"It was the doctor's opinion, for one thing. Then it was pretty plausibly substantiated by a trick of the weather. There was a shower at eleven-thirty last night from which the ground was still wet early this morning. The local Chief of Police covered himself with glory by noticing that the earth beneath Varr's body was as dry as a bone when they took him up."
"Good enough. I must have a chat with that lad. I wonder if he noticed anything else that was useful."
"Somebody did," commented Miss Ocky thoughtfully. "There was a man out there making a plaster cast of some footprints. Why do you suppose he was doing that, Mr. Creighton?"
"My golly!" The detective's eyes flashed with excitement. "Did you see them, Miss Copley?"