"Your own theory," I retorted, choosing to ignore his impertinence, "seek him first whom the crime benefits."
"Well, and whom did that particular crime benefit the most?"
"Philip Ashley, of course," I replied, "but you said yourself——"
"Philip Ashley did not benefit by the crime," the old scarecrow broke in, with a dry cackle. "No, no, but for the fact that a merciful Providence removed Charles Ashley so very unexpectedly out of this wicked world, Philip would still be living on a few hundreds a year, most of which he would owe to the munificence of his brother."
"That," I argued, "was only because that Peet-Jackson woman threw him over, otherwise——"
"And why did she throw him over? Because old Thornton Ashley died under mysterious circumstances, and Philip Ashley was under a cloud because of it. Any one could have foreseen that that particular woman would throw him over the very moment that suspicion fell upon him."
"But Charles——" I began.
"Exactly," he broke in, excitedly, "it was Charles who benefited by the crime. It was he who inherited the fortune."
"But, by the new will he would have inherited anyhow. Then, why in the world——"
"You surely don't believe in that new will, do you? The way in which I marshalled the facts before you ought to have paved the way for more intelligent reasoning."