Just for a moment Chris felt as if all the world was slipping away under her feet.
"But how could he do it?" she asked.
"Quite easily. And throw all the blame on Mr. Steel. Look at the evidence he had ready to his hand against the latter. The changed cigar-case would come near to hang a man. And Van Sneck was in the way. Steel goes out to meet you or some of your friends. All his household are in bed. As a novelist he comes and goes as he likes and nobody takes any heed. He goes and leaves his door on the latch. Any money it is the common latch they put on thousands of doors. Henson lets himself into the house and coolly waits Van Sneck's coming. The rest you can imagine."
Chris had no reply for a moment or two. Rawlins's suggestion had burst upon her like a bomb. And it was all so dreadfully, horribly probable. Henson could have done this thing with absolute impunity. It was impossible to imagine for a moment that David Steel was the criminal. Who else could it be, then, but Reginald Henson?
"I'm afraid this has come as a shock to you," Rawlins said, quietly.
"It has, indeed," said Chris. "And your reasoning is so dreadfully logical."
"Well, I may be wrong, after all," Rawlins suggested.
Chris shook her head doubtfully. She felt absolutely assured that Rawlins was right. But, then, Henson would hardly have run so terrible a risk for a little thing like that. He could easily have silenced Van Sneck by a specious promise or two. There must be another reason for—
It came to Chris in a moment. She saw the light quite plainly.
"Mr. Smith," she said, eagerly, "where did you first meet Henson and
Van Sneck?"