"I am afraid so," sighed Gore, remembering the accusation.
"Well," said Dick, resuming his seat, "what next?"
"Mrs. Gilroy came out screeching 'Murder!' She dragged me upstairs and into the sitting-room——"
"Did you notice if there was a red lamp in the window?"
"No. I was too horrified by the sight of my dead grandfather. I loosened the handkerchief round the throat——"
"That was a bandana, Sir Simon's own, and was produced at the inquest. What about the one over the mouth?"
"The one steeped in chloroform? I don't know. I had it in my hand when Mrs. Gilroy accused me. Then I lost my head. I must have dropped it."
Conniston looked disappointed. "That's a pity," said he. "I fancied you might have unconsciously taken it with you. You see, it was a white handkerchief and Sir Simon never used one of that color. If there happened to be a name on the corner——"
"It would be that of the assassin. Is that what you mean?"
"Yes, that is what I mean. The assassin must have used his own handkerchief."