He reached out and picked up from the desk a pad of prescription-blanks, which he spent spinning across to me.
"H'm. Sorry we got to use Antrim's dope-sheets, but it'the easiest. Tear off some of those and hand 'em round.
Anybody got some pencils? I want each of you to write down the name of the person you believe is guilty '
"Before we see Serpos?" ask Evelyn quickly.
"Sure. Before you see Serpos. Good old Serpos, the enigmatic figure of the whole case, who's been leerin' round the flame and the witches' broth from the start, never clearly seen and never clearly seeable! But, mind! When you write it down, I don't want anybody to guess. Don't merely take a long shot just because it sounds improbable. Unless you've got some real evidence, don't write anything at all. I want you all to make a strong effort to see what's right under your noses. Put down the name, and what you think the motive was — which is where most of you are goin' to trip up-and the evidence tendin' to prove it." He blinked round at Stone. "Like to have a go?"
"I don't mind if I do," assented Stone. His forehead wrinkled. "Just the same, it seems I've been wrong once tonight. 1 thought Keppel was behind this. But we know now he couldn't have done it-"
"Yes," said H.M. in a curious tone, "we know he couldn't 'a' done it."
I went round the group handing out the slips, and Stone himself carried enough pencils to equip nearly all of us. When I passed H.M. extending the pad tentatively, he opened and shut his hand in a ghoulish gesture of beckoning, and I gave him one of the slips. Then, before sitting down again, I opened one of the French windows. The hollow tumult of the rain rose from outside; a clean wet air blew into the room, drowsy on my eyelids, and the murky air was a faint grey.
They were at it, concentrating as though in a game. None of us, I think, will be likely to forget that circle round the skull in the doctor's consulting-room. I almost tiptoed back to my chair: for a certain idea had come into my head in the past few minutes. With the paper on the arm of the chair, I wrote rapidly. But I kept glancing at H.M. He had selected a rich blue pencil out of the tray on the desk; his sprawling handwriting began to stagger, and he puffed smoke with one eye shut. Except for the rain, the room was very quiet…
"Time!" said H.M., and brought his hand down with a flat smack.