"I'd just like to bet, ma'am, that the first words he said to you, in a good deal of a nervous and apologetic way, was something like this: 'Why don't you talk the matter over with Arthur?"
Vicky nodded.
"Yes, he did," she cried. "But I couldn't! I couldn't have mentioned it to Arthur. At least, not then. Not yet. Not till I'd had time to think."
"Right," said H.M., "and very well he knew it. And by the time you might have screwed up your courage, it'd be too late. For this ingenious feller, who knows the names of Sergeant Cuff and Hamilton Qeek in a day when most people have unhappily forgotten 'em, had now planned Arthur's murder down to the last detail.
"Hubert invited Rich to this house. He knew the conversation was bound sooner or later to get round to hypnotism. If it didn't, he could always drag it there. But he got his opportunity in the persistence of an argumentative young chap like Sharpless. Then Rich-"
H.M. paused, sniffed, and stirred uncomfortably.
"Scenting another good dinner," supplied Rich curtly. "Go on. Don't be afraid. Say it"
"Rich offered to do his parlor trick. It was Hubert (remember?) who insisted that you should all get together for dinner again on the followin' night. And so the scheme was ready.
"The important thing to remember about this 'experiment,' as Rich told me himself, was that it never varied and it could be timed to a second. Correct, son?"
Rich nodded. "Yes. Any entertainer will tell you the same. It becomes automatic. If possible, I always began at nine o'clock."