r, if she walked quickly
across the moors. I ascertained that by taking the same wagonette last
night, and walking across the moors from the cross-roads, as she did. The
murder was not committed until half-past nine, according to the stopped
clock, which is another point suggesting lack of premeditation. Let us
assume that up to the time she arrived at Flint House she had no intention
of murdering her father. She knocked, and was perhaps admitted by
Thalassa, and went up to her father's room. What happened during that
interview? We do not know, but we are told that Robert Turold was a man of
harsh, unyielding disposition, the slave of his single idea, which was the
acquisition of a lost title. Such a man was not likely to be moved by
pleading or threats. We must imagine a long and angry scene, culminating
in the daughter snatching up her father's revolver and shooting him."

"Thalassa told Pengowan that Robert Turold kept the revolver in the drawer
of his writing table," Dawfield remarked.

"I have read Pengowan's report," returned Barrant impatiently, "and I am
assuming that Robert Turold's daughter knew where it was kept. This is a
purely constructive theory of her guilt, and we have to assume many
things. We must further assume that when she left the room she locked the
door behind her and brought away the key in order to suggest suicide. When
she got downstairs she told Thalassa the truth, and begged him to shield
her. He promised to do so, and when the door of the study was broken open
he took an opportunity to drop the key on the floor, in order to suggest
the idea that Robert Turold had locked himself in his room before shooting
himself, and that the key was jolted out of the lock when the door was
burst in. It was an infernally clever thing to do. That's the case against
the girl, Dawfield. What do you think of it?"

"It sounds convincing enough."

"It would sound more convincing to me if it was entirely consistent with
the other facts of the case. Have you those sheets of unfinished writing
which were found in Robert Turold's study?"

Dawfield produced two sheets of foolscap from his desk. Barrant laid them
on the table, and examined them with a magnifying glass.

"It is certain that Robert Turold did not put down his pen voluntarily,"
he said. "He stopped involuntarily, in the midst of a word. That suggests
great surprise or sudden shock. The letter 'e' in the word 'clear'
terminates in a sprawling dash a