I smiled at his readiness and simplicity. "But the fairer assumption is that he would have fallen upon the table, not under it."
He stared at me; a light seemed to be breaking upon him. In an unsteady voice he asked, "What deduction do you draw from that?"
"That another person entered the house after your departure; that another person hurled the table—a massive oak table, according to the newspaper reports—upon the body in such a way as to purposely mutilate the features."
"Another person did enter," said John Fordham.
"I know. Maxwell."
"Yes, Maxwell. He happened, as he said, to be passing through the street on the night of the snowstorm, and found the street door open."
"I have read the particulars in the document you sent to Miss Cameron. Do you believe his statement?"
"What reason is there for disbelief?" he asked, "when he was acquainted with so many things which I thought no one knew but myself?"
"Which you thought. It would, perhaps, be more correct to say that you accepted his statement without thinking. Mr. Fordham, it is not my habit to throw discredit upon coincidences; at the same time I do not accept them blindly, and I decline to accept this. In an inquiry such as this upon which I am engaged my mind is open not only to probabilities but to possibilities; everything humanly possible must be taken into account. Let one of the reins slip through your fingers, and you upset the coach. Maxwell says he found the street door open; you state that when you left the house you closed it behind you. I range myself on your side. The street door was shut."
"Then to enter the house Maxwell must have had a key?"