“Mere guess-work,” said Crewe.

Rolfe shook his head slowly.

“I know better than that,” he said.  “You’re deep.  You don’t miss much.  I wish now that I had told you about that bit of handkerchief at the first.  But Chippenfield and I wanted to have all the credit of elucidating the Riversbrook mystery.  I hunted high and low to get trace of this handkerchief, but I couldn’t.  And now you’ve beaten me, although you couldn’t have known at first that there was such a thing as a missing handkerchief in the case.  I hope you bear me no malice, Mr. Crewe.”

“What for, Rolfe?”

“For not telling you about the handkerchief, after I found this piece in Sir Horace’s hand.”

“Not in the least,” said Crewe.  “Why should you have told me?  I don’t tell you everything that I find out.  It’s all part of the game.  That piece of the handkerchief was a good find, Rolfe, and I congratulate you on getting it.  How did you come to discover it?”

“I was trying to force open the murdered man’s hand, and I found it clenched between the little finger and the next.  Of course it was not visible with his hand closed.  Chippenfield, who missed it, didn’t half like my discovery, and all along he underestimated the value of it as a clue.”

“Well, he has had to pay for his folly.”

“He has, and serves him right,” replied Rolfe viciously.  “He’s the most pig-headed, obstinate, vain, narrow-minded man you could come across.”  It occurred to Rolfe that it was not exactly good form on his part to condemn his superior officer so vigorously in the presence of a rival, so he broke off abruptly and asked Crewe how he came into possession of the revolver and handkerchief.

Crewe’s reply was that he had obtained these articles under a promise of secrecy from some one who had assured him that Mrs. Holymead had no connection with the crime.  When he was at liberty to tell the story as it had been told to him, Rolfe would be the first to hear it.

“Mrs. Holymead had no connection with the crime?” exclaimed Rolfe impatiently.  “Perhaps you don’t know that the morning after the murder was discovered she went out to Riversbrook and removed some secret papers from the murdered man’s desk—­papers that he had been in the habit of hiding in a secret drawer?”

“Yes, I know that,” said Crewe.

“Well, doesn’t that look as if she knew something about the crime?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Well, to me it does.  What were these secret papers?  They were letters, I am told.”

“I believe so.  And you, Rolfe, as a man of the world, know that a married woman would not like the police to get possession of letters she had written to a man of the reputation of Sir Horace Fewbanks.”

“I admit that her action is capable of a comparatively innocent interpretation, but taken in conjunction with other things it looks to me mighty suspicious.  In Hill’s statement to us he told us that on the night of the murder, Birchill when hiding in the garden waiting for the lights to go out before breaking into the house, heard the front door slam and saw a stylish sort of woman walk down the path to the gate.”