Bryant turned on him sharply. "It occurs to me that you don't think it was a suicide, Mr. Davis."
"I don't, sir, and at present I can't quite tell you why."
"But you must have some reason for thinking that," said Bryant in the same sharp tone.
"My only reason is this—if the man who was buried under the name of Reginald Davis is the man I believe him to be, there was no earthly reason why he should commit suicide. To the best of my belief, he was murdered for some motive that I cannot guess, and the murderer, after cutting his throat, put the razor in his stiffening hand."
"It is a theory worth thinking about," said Bryant, who was beginning to appreciate his visitor very much. "And now, Mr. Davis, the name of the man whom your sister met in the empty house?"
"I have kept that to the last, to surprise you. You will know the name, but I don't suppose you ever came across the man. It was Major Hugh Murchison."
At this startling announcement, the Inspector literally jumped from his chair.
"But I do know Major Hugh Murchison," he cried. "He was in my office not so very long ago. Let me see, when was it?"
He turned to his diary and verified the date, and gave it to Reginald Davis. It was longer back than he thought.
"And you have not seen him since that day?"