Stenness maintained his caution.
“That’s your suggestion, not mine.”
“But assuming that,” demanded Sir Clinton, “why was Roger Shandon murdered at all? He had nothing to do with the case.”
Stenness had his answer ready.
“Assume that twin brothers resemble each other closely and even dress alike. Mightn’t a stranger mistake one for the other and kill him? Obviously. And then he might find that he’d made an error if the second brother turned up. The second man is the man he’s been paid to put out of the way. Wouldn’t he finish his job?”
“That’s an ingenious theory, Mr. Stenness,” commented Sir Clinton, but he refrained from saying anything further.
Howard Torrance had listened carefully.
“Hardly think that’ll fit, though. Neville was dead when I came across him; and I’d just heard Roger shouting . . . at least . . . at any rate,” he stumbled for a moment, then recanted. “No, you may be right. I was confusing the order of finding the bodies with the order of the murders.”
“There’s no proof of the order of the murders,” Stenness pointed out. “Both of them were dead when they were found, and that’s all we know.”
At this moment steps sounded outside, the door opened noisily, and Sir Clinton saw a stranger enter the room. At the sight of the air-gun in the newcomer’s hand, Vera Forrest gave a slight exclamation.