But there were other things than this to think about, and he thought much as he lay wakeful in bed that night and as he dressed next morning. The proceedings at the adjourned inquest had puzzled him; left him doubtful and uncertain. He was not sure about the jealousy theory. He was not sure about Mrs. Saumarez, from what he had seen of her personally and from what he had heard of her. He was inclined to believe that she was not only a dabbler in politics with a liking for influencing men who were concerned in them but that she was also the sort of woman who likes to have more than one man in leash. He was now disposed to think that there had been love-passages between her and Wallingford, and not only between her and Wallingford but between her and Wellesley—there might, after all, be something in the jealousy idea. But then came in the curious episode of Mrs. Mallett, and the mystery attaching to it—as things presented themselves at present there seemed to be no chance whatever that either Mrs. Mallett or Wellesley would lift the veil on what was evidently a secret between them. The only satisfactory and straightforward feature about yesterday's proceedings, he thought, was the testimony of Mrs. Bunning as to her unguarded door. Now, at any rate, it was a sure thing that there had been ready means of access to the Mayor's Parlour that evening; what was necessary was to discover who it was that had taken advantage of them.
After breakfast Brent went round to see Hawthwaite. Hawthwaite gave him a chair and eyed him expectantly.
"We don't seem to be going very fast ahead," remarked Brent.
"Mr. Brent," exclaimed Hawthwaite, "I assure you we're doing all we can! But did you ever know a more puzzling case? Between you and me, I'm not at all convinced about either Dr. Wellesley or Mrs. Mallett—there's a mystery there which I can't make out. They may have said truth, and they mayn't, and——"
"Cut them out," interrupted Brent. "For the time being anyway. We got some direct evidence yesterday—for the first time."
"As—how?" questioned Hawthwaite.
"That door into Bunning's room," replied Brent. "That's where the murderer slipped in."
"Ay; but did he?" said Hawthwaite. "If one could be certain——"
"Look here!" asserted Brent. "There is one thing that is certain—dead certain. That handkerchief!"
"Well?" asked Hawthwaite.