sat there. Had he gone to the safe himself and walked back to his
chair, the position of the keys would have been quite different."

Instinctively each man felt in his trousers pocket, and found in his
own bunch of keys a verification of the statement.

"The whole scheme was too calculated and deliberate for an amateur,"
said Malcolm Sage, knocking the ashes out of his pipe on to a brass
ashtray. "That is what prompted me to get the fingerprints of Peters,
so that I might send them to Scotland Yard to see if anything was
known of him there. The result you have seen."

"We've been on the look-out for him for more than a year," said
Inspector Wensdale. "The New York police are rather interested in
him about a forgery stunt that took place there some time ago."

"I am confident that when Challoner's affairs are gone into there
will be certain cheques which it will be difficult to explain.

"Then, again, there was the electric light," proceeded Malcolm Sage.
"A man about to blow out his brains would certainly not walk across
the room, switch off the light, and then find his way back to the
table."

"That's true enough," said Inspector Wensdale.

"On the other hand, a murderer, who has to stand at a door for at
least some seconds, would not risk leaving on the light, which would
attract the attention of anyone who might by chance be in the hall,
or on the stairs."

Inspector Wensdale caught Thompson's left eye, which deliberately
closed and then re-opened. There was a world of meaning in the
movement.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't get you down on a fool's errand, Sage,"
said Sir James, rising. "I wonder what the local inspector will
think."

"He won't," remarked Malcolm Sage; "that is why he assumed it was
suicide."

"Did you suspect Peters was armed?" enquired Sir James.

"I saw the pistol under his left armpit," said Malcolm Sage. "It's
well known with American gunmen as a most convenient place for quick
drawing."

"If it hadn't been for you, Mr. Sage, he'd have got me," said
Inspector Wensdale.

"There'll be a heavy car-full for Tims," remarked Malcolm Sage, as
he walked towards the door.

CHAPTER IV THE SURREY CATTLE-MAIMING MYSTERY

I

"Disguise," Malcolm Sage had once re-marked, "is the chief
characteristic of the detective of fiction. In actual practise it
is rarely possible. I am a case in point. No one but a builder,
or an engineer, could disguise the shape of a head like mine;"