“ ‘After a really bad storm I’m hardly normal. I might do something wild. I might steal my best friend’s spoons.’ That’s what she said; I heard it distinctly. Now what was the state of affairs on the night the Talisman was stolen? Wasn’t it the worst storm you’ve known for years?”
“It was,” agreed Mrs. Caistor Scorton, “quite the worst. But remember that you slept through it yourself. You told us so last night. So perhaps Mrs. Brent did the same.”
“You’re trying to laugh at me,” Freddie’s tone showed that he was hurt. “I’m sure Mrs. Brent didn’t sleep through it. She hasn’t got my strong nerves. No, I expect it drove her nearly out of her mind. What if she stole something even more important than her best friend’s spoons? Her room was quite near the place where the Talisman stood. What if she got up in the night with all her nerves in rags, stole the Talisman, hid it somewhere—and forgot all about it? And next morning she goes off on the Kestrel, nobody knows where. What do you think of that?”
“Not much,” said Mrs. Caistor Scorton, gently. “Try again.”
Freddie looked at her dubiously for a moment or two before continuing his survey.
“That leaves the two girls. But they have a complete alibi, luckily for them.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton looked at him quizzically as he stopped.
“Your list isn’t complete yet, Mr. Stickney. You’ve left out quite a number of possible people. Myself, for one. Yourself, for another. And you’ve forgotten the four Dangerfields. Let’s be quite fair all round. What about these people?”
Freddie, for once, was completely taken aback.
“That’s only a joke, isn’t it? You didn’t actually think . . .”