"All great detectives—and I am one, according to my friend, Cunningham—are egotistical," he said.
"Is that the reason that Sherlock Holmes is an egotist, sir?" asked Jenkins suddenly.
"Undoubtedly; and why not, since he is the greatest of his kind. You see great detectives seldom fail, and so naturally they become—well—self-opinionated," returned McKelvie.
But I had not come there to discuss the failings of detectives, great or small, so I proceeded to dismount him from his hobby.
"You said you knew how the murder was done. So does anyone who reads the papers. The coroner's inquest made that fact plain," I said to get him started. I had learned already that he disliked having his statements belittled.
"The coroner's inquest!" he scoffed. "Haven't you the wit to see that the inquest was in the hands of the police from the start? Jones questioned Orton in the morning and then calmly used Graves and his jury as a vehicle for tightening the net in which Mrs. Darwin had become entangled. What chance then had the truth for even so much as lifting its head? I suppose the police explained to your satisfaction how the murderer shot so accurately in the dark?" he ended, cynically.
I smiled inwardly as I realized that I had drawn the very fire I wanted. Now I would have the answer to my puzzle.
"Well, how did he do it?" I asked, unruffled.
"He didn't. He shot Darwin while the lamp was lighted, like any right-minded person," he answered triumphantly. "By the way, Jenkins, I don't believe I'll need you to-day."
"Very well, sir."