"Now, ladies and gents, where Hubert learned about the trick we don't know and your guess is as good as mine. But he must have seen it, probably more than once. He had it taped and he had it timed.
"To plan his details wasn't difficult. If you tell a Scottish-Jew bookie—"
"There are na' any Jews in Sco'land," interrupted Dr. Nithsdale. "They canna mak' a living there."
"Shut up. If you tell a Scottish-Jew bookie, whom you owe five pounds, to be at your house at a certain time to collect it, the one thing in this good green world you can be sure of is that he'll be on time to the tick. Donald MacDonald was timed to arrive durin' the pause, or breather, after Mrs. Fane had been put to sleep. And out went Hubert."
The summer dusk was deepening outside the windows. The ceiling lights were on in the back drawing room, making a brilliant glow where formerly there had been only the bridge lamp. All H.M.'s listeners were bending forward with gratifying absorption in what he said.
"Next," pursued H.M., "lenune ask you a question. What was the one time in the whole 'experiment' when you could be certain — absolutely certain — that every witness would have his eyes glued on either Mrs. Fane or Arthur Fane, and wouldn't have looked round if a bomb had gone off?
"I'll tell you. It was the time when Mrs. Fane was asked to pick up the revolver, walk over while Rich gave her a little lecture, and shoot her husband. Now wasn't it?"
"Yes," admitted Ann.
The others nodded.
"Hubert Fane went out into the hall, and to the front door. There he stood talkm' to the bookie, with one eye on his wrist-watch. When he judged the time was approaching, he sent Donald MacDonald away.