“No, I was wrong in saying that. I’ve been hunting out some more evidence—things that didn’t come out last night. One or two points seem to be important.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton became more alert.
“That sounds interesting, Mr. Stickney. I’d like to hear it.”
Freddie considered for a few moments.
“I was just trying to arrange it in my mind,” he explained. “The easiest way will be to take each person in turn, and examine the evidence we have about that person in particular. Take Eileen Cressage first. I think it’s obvious that some of us know more about her affairs than came out last night.”
He looked up into Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face inquisitively as he spoke, and his voice had a hint of interrogation in its tone. Mrs. Caistor Scorton stared down at him unwinkingly.
“One would almost think you were connecting me with her, Mr. Stickney. I hardly know her.”
“Well, correct me if I am wrong,” said Freddie, brightly. “I admit some of it’s guesswork; but I believe I’m right. We’ll see. Now to start with, she’s hard up. That’s common knowledge. People invite her to their houses out of good nature, and she stays with them to save money, living on the cheap.”
No one would have imagined, from Freddie’s semi-indignant, semi-pitying tone, that this description accurately fitted his own methods during part of the year.
“I believe that’s true,” said Mrs. Caistor Scorton, in a judicial voice. “It’s common knowledge, as you say. What next?”