“He is not lying now,” returned Charles, “and there is more than his bare statement to support his story.  Thalassa found his master cowering upstairs with fear in his study shortly before he met his death.  He then told Thalassa he had heard Remington’s footsteps outside.  Thalassa laughed at him, but undoubtedly Remington was out there, waiting for his opportunity, which he took as soon as he saw Thalassa leave the house.  If I had not followed Thalassa and Miss Turold I might have seen him.”

“It’s rather a pity you didn’t.”  Barrant’s tone was not free from irony.  “For then you might have secured the proof which at present the story lacks.”

“There are other proofs,” Charles earnestly continued.  “There were the marks on my uncle’s arm, and the letter he wrote to his lawyer under the influence of the terror in which Thalassa found him—­the fear caused by overhearing Remington’s footsteps.  Thalassa posted that letter.”

“Did he tell you so?” asked Barrant quickly.  Then, as Charles remained silent, he went on—­

“How did you find out about the marks on your uncle’s arm?”

Charles hesitated before replying in a low voice—­

“I paid a visit to Flint House on the night after the murder.”

“For what purpose?”

“To see if I could find out anything which might throw light on the mystery.  I got in through a window and went upstairs.  I saw the marks ... then.”

“Did you discover anything else?”

“No; the dog started to bark, and I left as quickly as I could.”

“I see.”

Barrant’s voice was non-committal, followed after a pause by a quick change of tone.

“I shall investigate this story later,” he said coldly.  “Meantime—­”

“Why not investigate it immediately?” asked Charles in a disappointed voice.  “Thalassa will be back directly, or I can take you down to the cliffs were I left him.”

Barrant was reminded of the flight of time.  It would be as well to remove Charles before Thalassa returned.  Time enough for Thalassa’s story later!  At that moment it seemed to Barrant that the final solution of the mystery was almost in his hands.  Mrs. Thalassa had been wiser than he.  The single game of patience suggested the solution of the problem of the time.  It did more than that.  It seemed to provide the key of the greater problem of Charles Turold’s actions on that night.  He had endeavoured to shield Sisily by altering the hands of the clock.  The rest, for the present, must remain mere conjecture.  One more question he essayed—­

“Can you tell me where Miss Turold is to be found?”

“I know, but I am not going to tell you.”

Barrant’s eye rested on Charles.

“You must come with me,” he said.

Charles nodded.  Despairingly he reflected that the interview had not turned out as he expected.  There were other means, and he must be patient.