“My dear Peter,” cooed Anthony, “I am sorely afraid that I diagnosed your complaint a few hours ago—when Miss Lennox made her dramatic entrance into the Museum Room. I feel doubly sure now that I was right.”
Peter looked somewhat sheepish.
“Unfortunately the excellent Butterworth’s story has strong support.”
“From whom?” asked Peter sullenly.
“Support of a peculiar and convincing nature,” continued Mr. Bathurst nonchalantly. “When the Sergeant first examined the library—the actual scene of the crime, Daventry—he found a lady’s handkerchief caught in the curtains that hang at the French doors.” He took another cigarette with evident enjoyment.
“Doesn’t necessarily belong to Miss Lennox,” countered Peter.
“N—no,” replied Anthony, calculatingly, “no, I admit that. But it has initials on it, in the corner, I believe—and those initials are ‘M. L.’—perhaps it belongs to Mr. Morgan Llewellyn!”
Peter gasped.
“Is that a fact, Bathurst?”
“Absolutely, my boy—everything exactly as I’ve told you!”