simple, straightforward case," said Monsieur Dupont. "In the fact that
she did not lies the whole secret of the crime."

"Bolsover's reason would seem to be the obvious one," Tranter returned.
"The assault must have been made so quickly that she had no time."

"Mr. Bolsover's reason is, as you say, the obvious one," admitted
Monsieur Dupont. "But it is not the correct one. I have already warned
Inspector Fay to disregard the obvious. If he will not take my advice,
that is his affair."

"But what do you mean?" asked Tranter.

Monsieur Dupont's voice sank lower.

"Don't you see that a cry for help would have completely transformed the
whole case? It would have brought it down in one crash to a human
level. It is the silence--the utter, horrible silence--that makes it
what it is. It is the silence----"

The inspector's voice recalled them.

"Now, Mr. Bolsover, just whereabouts was Layton when you disturbed him?"

"He was sneaking round there," the manager replied, pointing to a corner
of the house, "towards the drawing-room windows."

"Which path did he run to when he saw you?"

"That one--to the river."

"Does that path communicate anywhere with the one which we presume Miss
Manderson was following to the house?"

"Yes," said Copplestone.

They moved along the path indicated by the manager. It twisted about
unproductively for some distance.

"How far was he in front of you?" asked the inspector.

"I don't know," confessed the manager. "I should say about ten yards
when we started--but I am not much of a runner. I had lost him
altogether before I got here."

They went on.

"That cursed rain," the inspector muttered.

"This is the branch that leads to the other path," said Copplestone,
halting.

"And it was further along there, by that fir tree that I met Monsieur
Dupont," added the manager.

"That is so," agreed Monsieur Dupont. "Layton certainly did not come
beyond this point in my direction."

"By taking that branch," the inspector calculated, "he would have met
Miss Manderson just at the time that the crime was committed."

"He would," said the manager.

Monsieur Dupont turned again to Tranter.

"We must be quick," he whispered, "Layton is already hanged."

"There doesn't seem to be much chance for him," returned Tranter. "It
will be a very strong case. No criminal could complain at being hanged
on such evidence."

"And yet," said Monsieur Dupont slowly, "so far as the actual crime is