"You underrate me, I think. I suspected a long time ago that Hogenauer, poor Hogenauer, with all this talk of `flying in the air,' was merely engaged in some sort of hypnotic experiments. When I heard about his murder to-night, from an over-talkative policeman who brought me from Moreton Abbot-" Serpos's eyes were feverish with a kind of real inspiration. I believe the whisky was clearing off. "The lights. The cuff-links. The visit from Dr. Keppel-'
"That's all I wanted to know," said H.M.
There was such a heavy, dreary, bitter note in his voice, that it seemed to change the atmosphere of the room. It was like a door shut or a conclusion reached.
"That's torn it," explained H.M., with his head in his hands.
Serpos's voice went up a note or two. "It's very ingenious of you," he said with thinning sarcasm, "but you don't believe you can drag me into, this murder, do you?"
"Well… now. You don't deny you know Hogenauer?" "I had met him in this house, very briefly. I didn't know …’
H.M. peered up. "Ever visit his house, son?"
"Never."
"So," pursued H.M., "when you stole the money and cut for it, you merely spent a couple of hours puttin' on your disguise somewhere, and layin' a false trail, and ditchin' the car before you took the train at Moreton Abbot?"
"That is correct."