"How did you know she wasn't here that night?"
"The psychological aspects of the crime left me in no doubt. As I told you, no woman committed it,—my metaphysical hypotheses again; but never mind. . . . Furthermore, yesterday morning I stood on the spot where the murderer stood, and sighted with my eye along the line of fire, using Benson's head and the mark on the wainscot as my points of coinc'dence. It was evident to me then, even without measurements, that the guilty person was rather tall."
"Very well. . . . But how did you know she left here that afternoon before Benson did?" persisted Markham.
"How else could she have changed into an evening gown? Really, y' know, ladies don't go about décolletées in the afternoon."
"You assume, then, that Benson himself brought her gloves and hand-bag back here that night?"
"Someone did,—and it certainly wasn't Miss St. Clair."
"All right," conceded Markham. "And what about this Morris chair?—how did you know she sat in it?"
"What other chair could she have sat in, and still thrown her cigarettes into the fireplace? Women are notoriously poor shots, even if they were given to hurling their cigarette stubs across the room."
"That deduction is simple enough," admitted Markham. "But suppose you tell me how you knew she had tea here unless you were privy to some information on the point?"
"It pos'tively shames me to explain it. But the
