But he answered my question by another.
"Do you notice anything strange in this room, sir?" he asked. "On the floor?"
"Only a lot of dust," I remarked.
"Precisely," he said. "And one would expect footprints in dust. I see yours going to the mantelpiece; I see no others."
I clutched his arm, as his meaning came to me.
"My God!" I whispered. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "that Rupert Carlingham murdered John Trelawnay, and then killed himself and his wife, five years ago ... during just such another storm as we have had this evening."
IV — The Man who would not Play Cards
I
"Thanks very much, but as I told you before—I don't play cards."