I returned once more to my little table. However absurd, I would complete my analysis of the situation. I took a fresh sheet of paper and proceeded to add to the notes I had already made the following list of points, which I felt had some real bearing on the problem, and yet which could not very well be allocated to any particular member of the household.

(a) What were the two small fragments of glass that Allport found in Stella’s room—minute fragments that he had treasured so carefully and that had given him food for such furious thinking?

(b) What could have given rise to Inspector Brown’s peculiar manner when he had asked me if my initials were F. H., and why on earth should he have asked me that question so suddenly then at that time?

(c) Once again, why did Allport pretend that he had found the key in Kenneth’s room? As he was aware that I knew of its correct hiding-place in the doctor’s pocket, did it imply, that as far as he was concerned, at any rate, I was considered free from suspicion?

(d) Who was it who had laughed so disturbingly in the waiting-room on the morning of my arrival. Miss Summerson had told a lie then. Was there any connection between that and the murder?

(e) Why had Allport shown such a sudden interest in the photograph on the piano?

I felt that if only I had the answer to some of these questions, I should at any rate have some sort of insight into the little detective’s extraordinary behavior—some explanation of his reasons for leaving us to our own devices so suddenly, while he followed up a clue which he admitted held out little or no hope of leading him to the murderer. Surely one of his assistants could have chased this shadow, leaving him free to deal with the obviously more urgent problem that still remained unsolved here in Dalehouse.

I got up and carefully examined the photograph that had roused his sudden attention, but I could find nothing either suspicious or illuminating. It was a cabinet photograph of Ralph taken, I should imagine, a couple or so years before. I took it out of its frame as Allport had done. My guess had been correct. It was signed across the back in a rather boyish hand, and dated. I replaced it wondering. It was an absolute mystery. He had been walking toward me after his little tiff with Inspector Brown. The photograph had suddenly caught his eye, and some bright idea had dawned on him. He had been unable to hide his satisfaction. Inexplicable!

My notes were now complete, and I read them through, determined to come to some sort of conclusion based on what I had written down. At length, after many trials and much crossing out, I drew up the following table:—

The
Poison		Poison
key		MedicineBedroom
key		MotiveTotal
Myself10 2 510 027
Ralph 2 3 4 2 314
Kenneth 2 3 4 0 312
Doctor101010 81048
Ethel10 5 510 636
Margaret 2 3 5 0 515
Miss Summerson1010 5 0 025
Annie 3 41010 027
Cook 2 3 510 020