Daisy was in the hall, hoverin' round the drawing-room door with all her attention concentrated there, as he knew she'd be. What did Hubert do then? As we know, he walked back to the dining room. Now I want you to think back. You!" He pointed at Courtney. "The first time you ever set eyes on Hubert Fane, or I ever set eyes on him, what was he doing?"
Courtney reflected.
"He was standing in the dining room," Courtney responded, "by the sideboard. Taking a nip out of a bottle of brandy. In the dark."
H.M. nodded.
"Uh-huh. Sneaking a drink in the dark, as his habit was. As Daisy in the hall knew and expected.
"But this time he didn't do it. On Sunday I noticed somethin' else about that dining room. I noticed it after a nasty accident when I slipped on a rug and caused myself a serious injury that's mebbe goin' to leave me lame. Those rugs are arranged like islands. They're arranged so a man can walk quickly from the sideboard to the kitchen door without his foot makin' a noise on the hardwood.
"And something else. Has any of you noticed that the swing-door to the kitchen is absolutely noiseless and don't creak at all?"
"Yes," returned Courtney, thinking back. "I remember noticing it myself."
"So Hubert walked into the dining room, partly closing the door. He thumped over and made a bottle clink. Then he slipped as quiet as a ghost to the kitchen door, through the kitchen, and out the back door.
"He knew he wouldn't meet anybody, because (don't we know?) Mrs. Propper always goes to bed at nine o'clock every night of her life. Now. Outside the kitchen door, Hubert has left… well, what? You tell me. You used the same article yourself, fast enough, on Sunday night, and for the same purpose as Hubert used it."