Trent wrinkled his brow perplexedly. What Herries said quite upset his calculations, and he found himself face to face with a criminal mystery, such as had never before come into his official life. The accused man, saw his advantage and followed it up.
"Why should not this unknown man have murdered my uncle," he said quickly, "and have entered my bedroom to implicate me in the crime?"
"Why should he have done that?"
"I cannot say. But my bedroom door was not locked, and I was fast asleep, being quite worn out. The assassin left the razor and the key; he drew his bloody fingers down the shirt sleeve of my right arm, which probably lay outside the quilt. These are his marks," and Herries again shook his stained sleeve in the officer's face.
By this time Trent was more himself, and aggressively official.
"It is not for you to teach me my duty," he said, his self-love wounded. "The people who keep this inn must be examined before I can come to any conclusion."
"You might also examine Mr. Gowrie," suggested Herries quickly, "that is, if you can find him."
"Who is Mr. Gowrie?"
"An old tutor of mine, whom I found in the tap-room last night. He went away--to London, I believe--at seven."
"Upon my word, Mr. Herries," said the Inspector sarcastically, "for a man, who merely _chanced_ on this inn," he emphasised the word, "you seem to have met, not only with relatives, but with friends."