ence at Leroux’s flat. It’s not a natural thing for a woman, on the evening of her husband’s death, to rush straight away to another man’s place”…
“It’s strange we couldn’t find her clothes”…
“It’s not strange at all! You’re simply obsessed with the idea that this was a love intrigue! Think, man! the most abandoned woman wouldn’t run to keep an appointment with a lover at a time like that! And remember she had the news in her pocket! She came to that flat dressed—or undressed—just as we found her; I’m sure of it. And a point like that sometimes means the difference between hanging and acquittal.”
Sergeant Sowerby digested these words, composing his jovial countenance in an expression of unnatural profundity. Then:—
“The point to my mind,” he said, “is the one raised by Mr. Hilton. By gum! didn’t Dr. Cumberly tell him off!”
“Dr. Cumberly,” replied Dunbar, “is entitled to his opinion, that the injection in the woman’s shoulder was at least eight hours old; whilst Mr. Hilton is equally entitled to maintain that it was less than one hour old. Neither of them can hope to prove his case.”
“If either of them could?”…
“It might make a difference to the evidence—but I’m not sure.”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Ten o’clock,” replied Dunbar. “I am meeting
