untraceable.’
Dr Lloyd moved restlessly and Sir Henry shook his head.
‘No, dear lady. Not the secret arrow poison of the South American Indians! I wish it were something of that kind. We have to deal with something much more prosaic – so prosaic, in fact, that there is no hope of bringing the deed home to its perpetrator. An old gentleman who fell downstairs and broke his neck; one of those regrettable accidents which happen every day.’
‘But what happened really?’
‘Who can say?’ Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘A push from behind? A piece of cotton or string tied across the top of the stairs and carefully removed afterwards? That we shall never know.’
‘But you do think that it – well, wasn’t an accident? Now why?’ asked the doctor.
‘That’s rather a long story, but – well, yes, we’re pretty sure. As I said there’s no chance of being able to bring the deed home to anyone – the evidence would be too flimsy. But there’s the other aspect of the case – the one I was speaking about. You see, there were four people who might have done the trick. One’s guilty; but the other three are innocent. And unless the truth is found out, those three are going to remain under the terrible shadow of doubt.’
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