“Well, I suppose we must show it to the others in the house and see if anyone recognizes the hand.” Salt stood pondering a moment, then braced with decision. “And now I think that I’ve heard enough puzzling odds and ends about this crime. I want somebody to tell the story of it right straight through, so I’ll get the tit-bits in their proper places.”
This was clearly for Crofts, and I did not envy him. I remember that the rest of us were going to depart when Salt retained us with a gesture. So we were part of the audience while our host, with much nervousness and with some little assistance from the rest of us, told who were in the House, and what, in the main, had happened until the time Blenkinson had rung up the New Aidenn police station at five-twenty-two.
Only once did the Superintendent put in a word. Crofts had been setting forth as well as he could our bodily dispositions after we had left the Hall of the Moth. “So none of us could have been near him, and there’s no trace of anyone else. And there you are, Superintendent.”
“Oh—ah—um,” remarked Salt, his eyes moving about the walls. “Secret passages?”
“None,” snapped Crofts.
“Go on, sir, please. This is very interestin’.”
When our host had finished, Salt emitted a noise both gruff and complacent.
“A pretty job,” he observed. He cast a look about the room, as if the atmosphere of the Hall of the Moth impressed him for the first time, and he gave a conscious shiver. I saw his eyebrows twitch for a moment when his glance fell on the iniquitous portrait of Sir Pharamond on high. “A pretty job and will take a lot of doin’, I expect.”
“Do you want to see the rest of us now?” asked Crofts. “The party is waiting in the conservatory.” He indicated the door with a nod.
The Superintendent regarded the corpse with lack-lustre eye, and pulled his beard reflectively. “N‑no, not to-night, if you please. Not now, thanks. I’ll take ’em all in the morning. As a plain fact, there’s too much blood-and-thunder in the atmosphere to-night. Keeps people from thinkin’ straight. And we can’t catch the murderer to-night, anyhow.” He paused a moment, blinking thoughtfully again; he was given to these interludes of cogitation. “But see here; we may clear this matter up.” He showed the “Lochinvar” letter. “I’ll just pass this round and see if anyone twigs the writin’.”