Frank sat up with a jerk.

“You’ve got it! Anyone could have done it with a fingernail! What a dolt I am! I never thought about it. I’ve been trying to see how anyone except Masterman could have handled that switch, and there’s the answer, right under my nose!” He spread out a hand and frowned at five well kept nails, then suddenly relaxed. “It was under the Chief’s nose too-but perhaps we won’t rub that in. Well, Moira Lane could have done it, and so-and a great deal more likely-could Martin Oakley.”

Miss Silver fixed him with an intelligent eye.

“The statements you have given me to read do not include one from Mrs. Oakley.”

“No, I kept that back. We saw Martin Oakley and her maid yesterday, but we didn’t see her until this morning.”

“Her maid? Had she anything to say?”

There was a sparkle of malice in his eyes.

“Only that Mrs. Oakley committed bigamy when she married Oakley-the first husband being Glen Porteous alias Gregory Porlock.”

“Dear me!”

Frank produced another of his typewritten sheets.

“She listened to a conversation between her mistress and Porlock on Wednesday afternoon. You’d better read my notes.”

When she had done so she looked up gravely and said,

“So he was blackmailing her too.”

“Undoubtedly. She doesn’t admit it-she doesn’t admit anything. She just cries and says, ‘Please don’t tell Martin.’ I wish you could have been there, because you would probably have known whether she was putting on an act. She’s one of those little fluffy women-brain apparently left out. I say apparently, because the Chief says he’s met that sort before, and you can’t always tell. He swears they have an instinct for putting on a scene. I expect you would have been able to tell whether it was genuine or not. And it’s important, because everything turns on whether she told Martin Oakley that Glen Porteous had turned up and was blackmailing her. If she did, he had all the motive any jury could want. If she didn’t, he hadn’t any motive at all. Porlock was his friend and they were doing business together. He simply hadn’t got a motive-if Mrs. Oakley held her tongue. She says she did. Martin Oakley says she did, but then of course he would. I may say that he put up a most convincing show-dumbfounded astonishment, resentment, anger, and, at the end something as near a breakdown as you’d get in a man of his type. If he was putting it on he’s an uncommon good actor. As far as the physical side of it goes, he could have turned off the lights, and he could have stabbed Porlock just as any one of the group round the hearth could have done. And that brings us to Mrs. Oakley.”

“Yes?”

Frank nodded.

“She certainly had a motive, and she had the same opportunity as everyone else. She was right beside the body when the lights went on. Everyone says she looked dazed. She went down on her knees beside him and began to scream out his name, calling him Glen and saying, ‘They’ve killed him!’ Whether she had the brains to plan the murder-and it must have been carefully planned-is another matter. You wouldn’t say she had. The Chief isn’t sure-I think he’s rather impressed by the strength of the motive. He says it’s surprising what a woman will do if she’s faced with the loss of her husband and her child.”

Miss Silver had picked up her knitting. The needles clicked. She said,

“Women do not readily use a knife-not in this country, not unless it is a weapon snatched up in the heat of a quarrel. This was a premeditated blow, the dagger carefully selected. I will not say that no woman would be capable of such a deed, but I do say that only a very unusual woman would choose such a way of extricating herself from an unfortunate situation. The woman you and Miss Brown have described would be far more likely to weep upon her husband’s shoulder and leave the matter in his hands. Of course I have not seen Mrs. Oakley, and the Chief Inspector has. I have a great respect for his opinion and can agree with his conclusions, but human nature can be very unexpected.”

Frank Abbott laughed.

“He loves it when you agree with him. It doesn’t happen very often, does it? Well, that’s the field. Pearson wasn’t on the spot, and, as he took pains to explain, devotion to a client’s interests would hardly take him as far as murder. As for the others, Miss Masterman is a possible, and so, I suppose, is Mrs. Tote, but the Chief doesn’t think either of them likely. Justin Leigh had no motive, and Dorinda Brown-well, she’s sole legatee, but it’s practically certain that she couldn’t possibly have known the terms of the will. So there we are-Carroll, Tote, Masterman, Oakley and Mrs. Oakley, Moira Lane -”

There was a brief silence. The infant’s vest revolved. The colour really was extremely pretty. Miss Silver appeared to be concentrating her attention upon the clicking needles. Presently, whilst continuing to knit, she raised her eyes and said briskly,

“Was there a fire in the hall?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then how much light did it give? As I passed just now I observed that there was a good wood fire. Such a fire would throw out a considerable amount of light. It would affect the question of whether Mr. Tote could have made his way across the hall without being observed and-”

Frank Abbott interrupted.

“Yes, I know-you think of everything, don’t you? I ought to have told you that the fire had been dowsed.”

“By whom?”

“By Masterman, under Carroll’s orders. Carroll couldn’t do with the firelight for his charade. He wanted the hall to be dark, with the single lamp on the mantelpiece arranged to be as much like a spotlight as possible. They put a cone of brown paper on it and tilted it so that the light fell in a pool just where it caught his people one by one as they came down off the bottom step and turned at the newel. Leigh says it was very effective. They came down the stairs and passed through the light and out of it into the dark back of the hall. Masterman was in charge of the lighting. Carroll told him to dowse the fire. He was also first in the procession, and when he had done his part he worked round the edge of the hall and came back to the hearth, ready to turn on the lights when the show was over. I say that Tote could have crossed the hall without being noticed, because nobody noticed Masterman work his way back from the service door to the hearth. Of course they were all watching the charade then, but I say Tote could have done it. Everyone would have been moving, and no one would have been thinking about him.”

Miss Silver continued to knit. She said,

“Quite so. There is now a very important point which I wish to raise. Mr. Porlock’s back was marked with luminous paint. How large was this patch?”

“About three inches by four. It was an irregular patch, not a circle. There is no doubt at all about its purpose.”

“No,” said Miss Silver. “Very shocking indeed. But the luminous paint must have been conveyed in some manner which would prevent its spilling and marking not only the victim but the murderer. You yourself suggested a handkerchief. I am inclined to agree. Has any such handkerchief been found?”

“No.”

“If the fire was dowsed, the handkerchief could not have been burned. Did anyone leave the hall before the local Inspector arrived?”

“No. Leigh kept everyone there. He’s an able chap-he wouldn’t let anyone leave the hall. But I’m afraid that when Hughes arrived his ideas of a search were a bit perfunctory. He put the women in a room by themselves whilst he sent for a female searcher, and he had the men searched for bloodstains and paint-marks. There were no bloodstains, either on the men or on the women-there wasn’t any external bleeding. Carroll had smears of luminous paint, and so had Moira Lane and Masterman. It just proves nothing at all. Carroll was smothered with the stuff in his part as the devil, and the charade ended with his embracing Miss Lane. Carroll threw down his luminous mask upon the hall table, and Miss Lane threw her things there too. She was wearing a red velvet dress under her robe, and there was a mark on her left sleeve-rather a wet one. Masterman had a smear on his right cuff. He could have got it stabbing Gregory Porlock, but apparently he didn’t. Moira Lane says he pointed out the mark on her sleeve. She says he brushed up against her, and then exclaimed and said, ‘You’re all over paint. I’ve got some of it on my cuff. Hadn’t you better wipe it off?’ That was before Hughes arrived.”