"Why do you think that?"
Dick made an impatient gesture. "Why, it's the most natural thing he would do," was his reply. "He enters the room, and talks with Sir Simon. In his pocket he has the handkerchief steeped in chloroform and uses it unexpectedly. It's as clear as day."
"Why do you think the assassin is a man?"
"I'll tell you that later. Go on."
"There's nothing more to say. Mrs. Gilroy said that I was the assassin and tried to hold me. The policeman came and arrested me. Seeing what a fix I was in I bolted."
"You should have stood your ground," insisted Dick.
Bernard rose and in his turn paced the room. "Man alive, how could I do that?" he said irritably. "The position was dangerous enough to appal the bravest man. Mrs. Gilroy accused me, saying that I had been in the kitchen and had left there about six; that I had returned after ten and killed my grandfather. Also the housemaid Jane recognized me as the soldier who had been courting her. Not only that, but she addressed me as Bernard. Can't you see how strong the circumstantial evidence was and is? I did not get to Durham's before seven, and I was by myself before that. I can't prove an alibi then, and I left at ten, after which hour Mrs. Gilroy said I had come into the house. In three-quarters of an hour there was ample time for me to kill my grandfather. It is barely a quarter of an hour's walk from Durham's house on Camden Hill to Crimea Square. I could not prove an alibi, nor could you or Durham have helped me. I was at Durham's in the evening, but where was I before six and after ten? Dick, had I stayed I should have been hanged. These thoughts flashed through my mind and I made a dash for liberty, so that I might have time to think out my position. How I gained this refuge you know. And here I have been thinking ever since how to extricate myself from the dilemma and prove my innocence. I can't see how to do it, Dick. I can't see how to act."
"Steady, old boy. Come and sit down and we'll thresh out the matter."
He led Bernard back to the chair, into which the poor fellow threw himself with a weary sigh. Conniston could not but acknowledge that the case against his friend was very strong. As he could not prove an alibi, the evidence of Mrs. Gilroy, of the cook, and page, and housemaid, would probably hang him. And also a sufficient motive for the crime might be found—by the jury—in the fact that Bernard had quarrelled with his grandfather and had been disinherited. Then, to perplex affairs still more, Judas had disappeared, and the Red Window, on the evidence of Beryl and Mrs. Webber, was non-existent. Certainly the lady declared she saw it, but afterwards she thought she had been mistaken. In the interval someone must have removed the red light. But that was a detail which could be argued later. In the meantime it was necessary to fix, if possible, the identity of the soldier who had haunted the kitchen and who apparently so strongly resembled Bernard as to be mistaken for him by Jane.
"It's a plot," said Conniston, at length, while Bernard gazed despairingly into the burning logs. "This fellow who resembled you and who took your name is the assassin."