Masters had removed his raincoat and his bowler hat. Belatedly Phil Courtney followed suit, throwing his wet outer apparel on the hearth.
"But do you see how this last little bit fits in?"
"Oh, Masters, my son! Of course it fits in. It's inevitable. And it may have saved us a lot of trouble."
"Maybe. All the same, I'm bound to admit you were right after all. We don't dare take any more chances. That being the case, don't you think you'd better get on with it and give this demonstration of yours?"
"What demonstration?" asked Courtney wearily.
"Sir Henry's going to show us," answered Masters grimly, "how Arthur Fane was murdered."
There was a pause, filled with the endless splashing of the rain.
"You know?" Courtney asked.
"Oh, yes, son. We know who, and how, and why. Just watch me."
He could not believe that this was the end. He felt a chill of dread, yet his mind was still befogged and he could not register the remotest guess as to who, or how, or why.