Captain Cosdon burst out laughing, and departed, humming a stave of “Meet me to-night in Dreamland.”
Mr. Fortune gazed at his hostess. He had not supposed that she could say anything so sensible. “Most crimes are perfect,” he said.
“But how horrible! I should hate to be murdered and know there wasn’t a clue who did it.”
“Oh, there’ll be a clue all right,” Reggie assured her.
“Are you sure? And will you promise to catch my murderer, Mr. Fortune?”
“Well, you know,” he considered her round amiable face, “if you were murdered it would be a case of art for art’s sake. That’s very rare. I was speakin’ scientifically. A perfect crime is a complete series of cause and effect. Where you have that, there’s always a clue, there is always evidence, and when you get to work on it the unknown quantities come out. Yes. Most crimes are perfect. But you must allow for chance. Sometimes the criminal is an idiot. That’s a nuisance. Sometimes he has a streak of luck and the crime is damaged before we find it, something has been washed out, a bit of it has been lost. It’s the imperfect crimes that give trouble.”
The bridge-players were getting up. Sally Winslow was announcing that she had lost all but honour. Mrs. Faulks wore a ruthless smile. Sally went off to bed.
“Oh, Mrs. Faulks,” her sister cried, “do come! Mr. Fortune is lecturing on crime.”
“Really. How very interesting,” said Mrs. Faulks, and transfixed Reggie with an icy stare.
“The perfect criminal in one lesson,” Alice Beach laughed. “I feel a frightful character already. All you want is luck, you know. Or else Mr. Fortune catches you every time.”
“I say, you know, Alice,” her husband protested.
A scream rang out. Alice stopped laughing. The little company looked at each other. “Where was that?” Tom Beach muttered.
“Not in the house, Colonel,” Faulks said. “Certainly not in the house.”
Tom Beach was making for the window when all the lights went out.
Alice gave a cry. The shrill voice of Mrs. Faulks arose to say, “Really!” Colonel Beach could be heard swearing. “Don’t let us get excited,” said Faulks. Reggie Fortune struck a match.
“Excited be damned,” said Tom Beach, and rang the bell.
Reggie Fortune, holding his match aloft, made for the door and opened it. The hall was dark, too.