Mrs. Caistor Scorton seemed to have recovered her earlier mood.
“Oh, I’m not so clever as you are, Mr. Stickney. I’m quite content to hear your own views. Let’s take the next person on your list.”
“Take Douglas Fairmile,” continued Freddie, quite restored to good humour by the scrap of flattery. “My deliberate judgment is that Douglas is not guilty. First, there’s no motive. Douglas has any amount of money; he doesn’t need the Talisman for the sake of turning it into cash. Second, he hasn’t the initiative to carry through a thing like that. He’s just one of these would-be funny fellows. No, in my opinion, it wasn’t Douglas.”
“I agree with you,” concurred Mrs. Caistor Scorton. “Let’s pass on.”
“Morchard’s the next. Same thing. No motive. No evidence. Morchard didn’t take it.”
“Anything to say about Mrs. Brent, Mr. Stickney?”
“Ah,” said Freddie importantly. “I have a piece of fresh evidence about her. Two nights ago, I happened to be passing outside the window when she was discussing storms with that Yankee; and do you know what I heard her say?”
“No,” said Mrs. Caistor Scorton. “I don’t know. I wish you wouldn’t go on asking these questions when you know I can’t possibly answer them.”
Freddie ignored the interruption.
“I heard her say this,” he went on, impressively.