"Then the man who murdered Sir Simon entered the room--your room--to incriminate you. After emptying the pocket-book, he took that and the razor into your room. You were sound asleep, worn out, as I was told by Elspeth----"
"That's quite true, and old Gowrie gave me a glass of toddy to make me sleep the sounder."
"Oh," said Kind in a peculiar tone, and considered; after a time he went on, but did not say why he had made the exclamation. "Well, then, the murderer smeared your shirt sleeve, and left the razor on the bed, and the pocket-book under it. Then he retired to the death-room and waited till dawn. When ready to go, he locked the door of the room in which the dead man lay, and put the key in your room."
"But how do you know that he was in my room at all?" asked Herries, somewhat annoyed by all this theory.
Kind asked another question.
"Did Sir Simon smoke?"
"No," said Browne, "he never smoked in his life."
"In that case," Kind fished out the stump of a cigarette, "what do you make of that? I found it in your room, Mr. Herries."
The young man took the cigarette, which was burnt down half way, and examined it carefully. Then he smelt it.
"Periquette tobacco?" said he thoughtfully, "comes from France,--from Algiers,--from----"