possible, but the point was not cleared up at the trial; it
probably never will be now," he replied, eyeing the innkeeper
attentively. "And the incandescent burner was broken too. Have you had a
new burner attached, Benson?"

"No, sir. The room has never been used since."

"It's a queer thing about that broken burner. That's another point in
this case that was not cleared up at the trial. Who do you think broke
it?"

"How should I know, sir?" His bird's eyes, in their troubled shadow,
turned uneasily from the detective's glance.

"Nevertheless, you can hazard an opinion. Why not? The case is over and
done with now, and Penreath--or Ronald, as he called himself--is
condemned to death. So who do you think broke that burner, Benson?"

"Who else but the murderer, sir?"

"That's the police theory, I know, but I doubt whether Penreath was tall
enough to strike it with his head. It's more than six feet from the
ground." The detective threw a critical glance over the innkeeper's
figure as though he were measuring his height with his eye. "You are
well over six feet, Benson--you might have done it."

It was a chance shot, but the effect was remarkable. The innkeeper swung
his small head on the top of his long neck in the direction of the
detective, with a strange gesture, like a pinioned eagle twisting in a
trap.

"What makes you say that!" he cried, and his voice had a new and
strident note. "I had nothing whatever to do with it."

"What do you mean?" replied the detective sternly. "What do you suppose
I am suggesting?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," replied the other. "The fact is I have not
been myself for some time past."

His voice broke off in an odd tremor, and Colwyn noticed that the long
thin hand he stretched out, as though to deprecate his previous
violence, was shaking violently.

"What's the matter with you, man?" The detective eyed him keenly. "Your
nerve has gone."

"I know it has, sir. What happened in this house a fortnight ago upset
me terribly, and I haven't got over it yet. I have other troubles as
well--private troubles. I've had to sit up with mother a good deal
lately."

"You'd better take a few doses of bromide," said the detective
brusquely. "A man with your nerves should not live in a place like this.
You had better go to bed now. Good night."

"Good night, sir." The innkeeper hurried out of the room without another
word.

Colwyn sat by the fire for some time longer pondering over thi