“Isn’t that just what he would do if he were guilty?”
“My dear Bob, this is absurd. We know that Carter was in the Cunningham Hotel all the evening. He couldn’t have done it. Really——”
“Do you think that the man who was clever enough to fasten all that suspicion on your stepfather wouldn’t be clever enough to provide himself with a passable alibi?”
“Oh, yes. But all this doesn’t tell me why you suspect Carter. Put it out of your mind, Bob. I know you don’t like him, but that doesn’t mean that he has committed murder.”
“I’ve said to myself already everything that you are saying now. But I still believe that he did it.”
“Why, Bob? Have you any reason—any proof at all, I mean?”
“No, I’ve no proof; but I’ve an idea. It’s a question of elimination. If nobody else did it, then he did.”
“But, my dear boy, what possible motive could he have had? People don’t commit murders just for fun. Do be reasonable. Carter was on quite good terms with both George and John, and he had no reason for killing either of them.”
“Do you mean that, Joan?” said Ellery, with a sense of disappointment. “I hoped you would be able to explain to me what motive he could have had. Come now, doesn’t he really stand to gain something—I mean, don’t you think Sir Vernon may make him his heir, or something of that sort?”
Joan paused. “Yes, Bob,” she said, with a sigh. “There I think you’re right. Sir Vernon will very likely put Carter in John’s place, I should imagine. But——”