"Yes. You said it would be pretty awful if somebody we thought figured in one role really figured in exactly the opposite role. Remember?"
"Yes; but-"
H.M. looked at Vicky.
"You, ma'am, thought that Arthur Fane was a murderer and Hubert Fane was a blackmailer. Actually, it was just the other way round. Hubert was the murderer and Arthur the blackmailer. Hubert had killed Polly Allen; and Arthur, who knew it, was makin' a very good thing out of it. That's the whole secret of this case; and as far as I’m concerned, its only novelty." He crossed his knees.
"Y'see, ma'am, your knowledge that your husband was a murderer was the 'admitted' fact. "Sure. But who admitted it?
"If this were all written down and traced back, you'd find that there was only one source for all the details about Arthur: Hubert himself. You found a handkerchief in a chair. You heard Arthur, in his sleep, mumblin' some words about the murder of Polly Allen. It was on his conscience, all right; but not in the way you thought it was. You jumped to the conclusion, as most women would, that he was guilty. You went to Hubert. And Hubert told you as fine a little ghost-story as he ever devised."
Vicky nodded. A shadow was on her face.
H.M. lit one of his offensive cigars without apologizing.
"Unfortunately, we — Masters and I — didn't know what you knew, or thought you knew, until you told us all about it on that Sunday afternoon. If we'd been able to pool our information beforehand, we'd have nabbed Master Hubert even faster than we did. When we heard, that tore it.
"Y'see, most people thought Hubert was a wealthy man. Sharpless thought so. Rich thought so. Masters thought so. And the joker in the pack is that he teas a wealthy man.