"I have seen him," replied Harley, "and have congratulated him upon his culinary art. His name, I believe, is Deronne. He is a Spaniard, and a little fat man. Quite an amiable creature," he added.
"Hm." The Inspector cleared his throat noisily.
"If that is all," said Harley, "I should welcome an opportunity of a few hours' sleep."
"Oh," said the Inspector. "Well, I suppose that is quite natural, but I shall probably have a lot more questions to ask you later."
"Quite," muttered Harley, "quite. Come on, Knox. Good-night, Inspector Aylesbury."
Harley walked out of the dining room and across the deserted hall. He slowly mounted the stairs and I followed him into his room. It was now quite light, and as my friend dropped down upon the bed I thought that he looked very tired and haggard.
"You heard that question about Miss Beverley?" I began.
"I heard it, and I am wondering what her answer will be when the Inspector puts it to her personally."
"Surely it is obvious?" I cried. "A cloud of apprehension had settled on the house last night, Harley, which was like the darkness of Egypt. The poor girl was afraid to go to bed. She was probably sitting up reading."
"Hm," said Harley, drumming his feet upon the carpet. "Of course you realize that there is one person in Cray's Folly who holds the clue to the heart of the mystery?"
"When the rifle cracked out, Knox, she knew! Remember, no one had told her the truth. Yet can you doubt that she knows?"
"Neither do I." He clenched his teeth tightly and beat his fists upon the coverlet. "I was dreading that our friend the Inspector would ask a question which to my mind was very obvious."
"Well, what investigator whose skull contained anything more useful than bubbles would have failed to ask if Colonel Menendez had an enemy in the neighbourhood?"
"No one," I admitted; "but I fear the poor man is sadly out of his depth."
"He is wading hopelessly, Knox, but even he cannot fail to learn about Camber to-morrow."
He stared at me in a curiously significant manner.
"Do you mean, Harley," I began, "that you really think----"
"My dear Knox," he interrupted, "forgetting, if you like, all that preceded the tragedy, with what facts are we left? That Colonel Menendez, at the moment when the bullet entered his brain, must have been standing facing directly toward the Guest House. Now, you have seen the direction of the wound?"