"That's the whole sad story, my children. He had the tongs on him then, and the rubber dagger. All he had to do afterwards was shove the rubber dagger down out of sight in the sofa. Whether he had the wild, starin', brass-bound cheek to nail up the joints of his lazy-tongs, so that it became rigid at half its extended length, and then get rid of it by stickin' it in the garden as a rose-trellis in plain sight… well, I dunno. But I've got a hazy idea that it'd be like Hubert. It'd appeal to his sense of humor." They all sat down again.
"It's a part of the story," prompted Ann, "but not all. What happened afterwards?"
"The rest," said H.M., settling back, "is plain sailing for us. But not for him. On that same night, after his trick was over, he got one hell of a shock.
"For Rich's curiosity had been roused by the rummy emotional undercurrents in this place. Rich wanted to know what ailed Mrs. Fane. While she was under hypnosis, up in that bedroom, Rich asked questions. And, in front of Rich and another witness, she told about the murder of Polly Allen."
"But how could Hubert have known that?" demanded Courtney.
"Because he heard you and me talkin', that's how!" snapped H.M. "Think back, son. Where were we when you first told me all about what you'd heard eavesdroppin' on that balcony?"
Courtney reflected.
"We were standing just outside the front door of this house," he answered, "in the dark."
"Yes. And who occupies the other front bedroom: across the hall from Mrs. Fane's, and also with a balcony facing the front lawn?"
"Hubert," replied Ann instantly.