“That is rather abstract,” I said slowly.
“I suppose it sounds that way. Well—here is one definite and concrete trick. As a rule, given enough rope a man can hang himself. Often I find that there will be one little circumstance that only the guilty man knows. Sooner or later he lets it out. Sometimes I have to trap the man I suspect into such an admission.”
I’m sure my eyes were popping out.
“Then that is why you made that extraordinary request of me at the first inquest!” I exclaimed. “I could not understand it. The thing you mentioned seemed so insignificant.”
It was remarkable that his eyes could be so clear and so unfathomable at the same time.
“I trust you are discreet,” he said evenly.
“Oh, I shan’t tell, if that is what you mean,” I promised hastily. “I am as interested in solving this mystery as you are. Indeed, I think I may say that I am far more deeply interested.”
“Well, keep your eyes and ears open,” he said, smiling and rising to open the door for me, and I found myself out in the main hall before I knew it.
It was only a few moments later that I saw him leave; I remember standing at the window beside the main entrance, and watching his long gray roadster swoop silently and swiftly around the curve of the main driveway and into the road. He was seated at the wheel, a slight gray figure, intent only on the muddy highway ahead of him. There was a suggestion of power, of invincibility, in the very repose and economy of motion with which he controlled the long-nosed roadster.
As I turned away I met Maida.