"You went to the prison. Who deliberately called your attention to that pile of rapiers and daggers in the condemned cell? He did. You didn't find the dagger, as he'd hoped when he shoved it in there under cover of so much darkness. But back he went with Drake after the fencin' match—"
"By the way," demanded Martin, "was 'young' Dr. Laurier concerned in this?"
"Not in the least son. He's only a bit of a snob, that's all. His most valued patient is Sophie there, and when he had tea with her on Saturday she must have dropped a hint that 'Captain' Drake was endangerin’ Jenny's marriage. Hence the faintly sinister hints in the bar-parlour when he first met you."
"But to get back to—?"
"Sure, if you'll stop interrupting. Ricky Fleet when you and he went back to get corks, smackin' well made sure you'd find the dagger. He helped tumble over some swords and put his light straight on it. As to how the weapons got there, it's clear he'd been using the prison for some time…"
"Using it? He told me," said Martin, "he'd often wanted to explore the place, but he couldn't get in."
"Oh, my son!" H.M. said dismally. "Anybody could get in there. You don't have to be a locksmith to understand that. You just have to go and take a dekko at the main gates. The bigger the lock, the simpler it is. And the easier it is to get a wax impression, if anybody wants to.
"Son, there were too many doors with oiled hinges inside that place, as our friend Stannard pointed out. Even if Stannard himself had been up to some kind of funny business—"
Here the barrister chuckled.
"— why in the name of Esau should he have oiled the hinges of those high front gates? Admittedly all your party were goln’ there. No; it was somebody who wanted no betraying gate-creaks when he slipped in.