"As he did," muttered Vicky.
"But that very evening the case had the tin hat put on it when Agnew reported that Hubert could be identified by an iron-monger in Gloucester as the man who bought the knife. Meantime, Hubert had his last fling.
"Even in his vanity he had the sense to realize he might, just might, be suspected. So he created a phantom outsider by obviously knockin' on a drain-pipe under Mrs. Propper ’s windows, and fiddlin' about with the window to create his burglar.
"Next he made noises downstairs to attract Ann Browning and draw her down. If she hadn't gone… well, I get a bit of gooseflesh to think what might have happened. Hubert nipped up the stairs, administered a hypodermic to a sleeping woman, and ducked down again after she'd returned.
"He was now nicely placed. He'd disconnected the bell and discouraged intrusion. You'll have guessed what he did. He went into the drawin' room here, turned off the light, and sat down. He took an extremely heavy stonework jar, whose surface wouldn't take fingerprints, held it at full arms' length over his own head, and let it go. That was where he made the last, silliest mistake of his life."
Dr. Rich interrupted.
"Just a moment, Sir Henry! I don't quite understand this. All along you've been referring to him in the past tense. Now you say 'of his life.' Why?"
H.M. peered round. '
"Oh, son! Haven't they told you? Didn't you know?"
"Know what?"