'I shall laugh to see all their faces.'
That's what he said."
He hadn't had long to laugh, Craddock thought.
"It's only a theory," said Rydesdale as they drove back to Medenham.
"Nothing to support it, nothing at all.
Put it down as old maid's vapourings and let it go, eh?"
"I'd rather not do that, sir."
"It's all very improbable.
A mysterious X appearing suddenly in the darkness behind our Swiss friend.
Where did he come from?
Who was he?
Where had he been?"
"He could have come in through the side door," said Craddock, "just as Scherz came.
Or," he added slowly, "he could have come from the kitchen."
"She could have come from the kitchen, you mean?"
"Yes, sir, it's a possibility.
I've not been satisfied about that girl all along.
She strikes me as a nasty bit of goods.
All that screaming and hysterics - it could have been put on.
She could have worked on this young fellow, let him in at the right moment, rigged the whole thing, shot him, bolted back into the dining-room, caught up her bit of silver and her chamois and started her screaming act."
"Against that we have the fact that - er - what's his name - oh, yes, Edmund Swettenham, definitely says the key was turned on the outside of the door, and that he turned it to release her.
Any other door into that part of the house?"
"Yes, there's a door to the back stairs and kitchen just under the stairs, but it seems the handle came off three weeks ago and nobody's come to put it on yet.
In the meantime you can't open the door.
I'm bound to say that story seems correct.
The spindle and the two handles were on a shelf outside the door in the hall and they were thickly coated with dust, but of course a professional would have ways of opening that door all right."
"Better look up the girl's record.
See if her papers are in order.
But it seems to me the whole thing is very theoretical."
Again the Chief Constable looked inquiringly at his subordinate.
Craddock replied quietly:
"I know, sir, and of course if you think the case ought to be closed, it must be.
But I'd appreciate it if I could work on it for just a little longer."
Rather to his surprise the Chief Constable said quietly and approvingly:
"Good lad."
"There's the revolver to work on.
If this theory is correct, it wasn't Scherz's revolver and certainly nobody so far has been able to say that Scherz ever had a revolver."
"It's a German make."
"I know, sir.
But this country's absolutely full of continental makes of guns.
All the Americans brought them back and so did our chaps.
You can't go by that."
"True enough.
Any other lines of inquiry?"
"There's got to be a motive.
If there's anything in this theory at all, it means that last Friday's business wasn't a mere joke and wasn't an ordinary hold-up, it was a cold-blooded attempt at murder.
Somebody tried to murder Miss Blacklog.
Now why?
It seems to me that if anyone knows the answer to that it must be Miss Blacklog herself."
"I understand she rather poured cold water on that idea?"