"Then," Bobby cried, "there was a connection between the dinner party and the murders. But what about my coming here unconscious? What about my handkerchief?"
"I can see no answer yet," Graham said.
Paredes smiled.
"Not when you've had the answer to everything? I have shown you that
Silas Blackburn was the murderer. The fact stared you in the face.
Everything that has happened at the Cedars has pointed to his guilt."
"Except," the doctor said, "his own apparent murder which made his guilt seem impossible. And I'm not sure you're right now, for there is no other Blackburn he could have murdered, and Blackburns look alike. You wouldn't mistake another man for one of them."
"This house," Paredes smiled, "has all along been full of the presence of the other Blackburn. There has been evidence enough for you all to have known he was here."
He stretched himself in an easy chair. He lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
"I shall tell you the simple facts, if only to save my skin from this blood-thirsty district attorney."
"Rub it in," Robinson grinned. "I'll take my medicine."
They gathered closer about the Panamanian. Jenkins sidled to the back of his chair.