"Why--the affair--Prescott of course! Why do you ask?"
Anthony shook his head. "On the contrary, Bill, this settles two little matters but _not_, distinctly _not_, the affair of Prescott as you call it. I don't like to think about that too much. There, Bill, as the immortal Sherlock would say, 'we are in very deep waters.'"
Dr. Mackenzie joined us. Had we had any success ... yes? ... he was gratified....
"May I take this copy of _The Prattler_ with me, Doctor?" said Anthony. "I shall be happy to recompense you for its loss."
"Certainly not! I couldn't hear of it," said the doctor. He would have liked us to have stayed for dinner, but he was very much afraid that his _cuisine_ might not be adequate!
"Many thanks, Doctor,"--Anthony with one of his rare smiles--"we understand perfectly. Besides, we are anxious to get back. Good-afternoon."
I harked back directly we were outside the house.
"I should be eternally obliged if you would explain things a bit, old man," I declared, a trifle resentfully. "Surely this clears things up considerably."
"This clears the robbery problem--Lady Considine's robbery--and it effectively explains that very vexed question that bothered a number of us--why Marshall opened the window. Beyond that----"
"Well, it's pretty evident that Marshall took the case containing the pearl necklace from Lady Considine's bedroom, and it's also fairly conclusive that she conveyed that same case to her husband--'Spider' Webb--via the window of the billiard room. The second set of footprints we shall very soon discover to be that august gentleman's. And I think they were the footsteps that Dick and Helen Arkwright heard. But I don't think ..." he paused and reflected.
"I don't think it was the billiard room door that Jack Considine fancies he heard shutting." He slashed with his stick at the grass as we walked.
"Was it Prescott's door?" I broke in eagerly. "Did Prescott hear anything and come down to meet his death?"
"No, Bill, I don't think so. All my intuition and instinct, if you care to call it that, lead me away from that idea."
"What about Marshall--or Mrs. Spider as she is--and the window? You haven't explained that yet," I insisted, "properly!"
"Prescott's body on the billiard-table was an overwhelming surprise to Marshall when she opened the door this morning. She had dropped the 'sparklers,' as Comrade Spider probably calls them, out of the window and closed it again. Then gone quietly back to bed in the servants' part of the house. Now for her surprise! When she enters the room a few hours later she comes face to face with a greater and more sinister crime. She at once, in her mind, connects the two things! Had 'Spider' come back for anything, encountered Prescott and killed him? Had they fought? Was 'Spider' hurt? She had last seen him just outside the window. Was he there still, wounded perhaps? She rushes to the window and flings it open. _Voilà_, Bill!"