"Don't see it," argued Tracey. "She's one of these tall women who could easily overpower a little woman like Mrs. Brand."
"But what reason had she to kill Mrs. Brand?"
"She wanted to lay the blame on you and stop your marriage."
"Stuff and nonsense! Why should she kill Mrs. Brand for that? She did not know the woman was my cousin, or that money was coming to me; I didn't know myself till the lawyers wrote after the death."
"It's a rum case altogether," said Jasher, nursing his chin on his fat hand. "I can't see my way."
"I can," said Luther briskly; "you go right along and make inquiries about Mrs. Fane, and I'll go on my own. Then come here and we'll size the business up when we pool the notes."
"But Mrs. Fane was at Westcliff-on-Sea," said Arnold distracted.
"And she took my motor-car to get back."
"To Charing Cross?" asked Jasher disbelievingly.
"You bet. That was a blind. There's a late train to Westcliff-on-Sea on Saturday night. Mrs. Fane could leave this house when you, Calvert, left it about eleven. She could rip along in my flier to Charing Cross in twenty minutes, and then leaving the car there, she could take the underground to Bishopsgate to catch the late train. That's what she did. Oh, I've worked it out."