, sir--not exactly. But it must have been nearly half-past eleven, I
should think."

"It is very important to fix the time at which Lord Loudwater died," said
Mr. Flexen. "You can't tell me nearer than that?"

"No, sir. It was nearly ten to twelve when I got home, and I reckon it's
about twenty minutes' walk from the Castle to the cottage here."

"And all you went to the Castle for was to speak to Elizabeth Twitcher?"
said Mr. Flexen.

"That was all I went for--every single thing. And it was all I did
there--every mortal thing I did there, sir," Hatchings asseverated, and
he wiped his brow.

"H'm!" said Mr. Flexen. "As you passed through the library, did you
happen to notice whether the knife was in its place in the big inkstand?"

Hutchings hesitated, and his lips twitched. Then he said: "Yes, I did,
sir. It was in the big inkstand."

Mr. Flexen could not make up his mind whether he was telling the truth or
not. He thought that he was not. But he did not attach much importance to
the matter. People who knew themselves to be suspected of a crime had
often told him quite stupid and unnecessary lies and been proved innocent
after all.

"I should have thought that your mind was too full of other things to
notice a thing like that," he said in a somewhat incredulous tone.

Then there came an outburst. Mr. Flexen had thought that Hutchings was
worked up to a high degree of nervous tension, and he was. He cried out
that he knew that every one believed that he had done it; but he hadn't.
He'd never thought of it. He was damned if he didn't wish he had done it.
He might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, anyhow. He broke off to
curse Lord Loudwater at length. He had been a curse to every one who came
into contact with him while he was alive, and now he was getting people
into trouble when he was dead. Yes: he wished it had occurred to him to
stick that knife into him. He'd have done it like a shot, and he'd have
done the right thing. The world was well rid of a swine like that!

His face was contorted, and his eyes kept gleaming red as he talked, and
he came to the end of his outburst, trembling and panting.

Mr. Flexen was unmoved and unenlightened. It was merely the outburst
of a badly-frightened man lacking in self-control, and told him
nothing. It left it equally likely that Hutchings had, or had not,
committed the crime.

"There's nothing to get so frantic about," he said quietly to the panting
man. "It d