aid just what you say. 'He was always a
bit of a swell in his dress,' he told me, and he drew the inference that
when Manderson got up in that mysterious way, before the house was
stirring, and went out into the grounds, he was in a great hurry. 'Look
at his shoes,' he said to me: 'Mr. Manderson was always specially neat
about his foot-wear. But those shoe-laces were tied in a hurry.' I
agreed. 'And he left his false teeth in his room,' said the manager.
'Doesn't _that_ prove he was flustered and hurried?' I allowed that it
looked like it. But I said, 'Look here: if he was so very much pressed,
why did he part his hair so carefully? That parting is a work of art.
Why did he put on so much?--for he had on a complete out-fit of
underclothing, studs in his shirt, sock-suspenders, a watch and chain,
money and keys and things in his pockets.' That's what I said to the
manager. He couldn't find an explanation. Can you?"

Mr. Cupples considered. "Those facts might suggest that he was hurried
only at the end of his dressing. Coat and shoes would come last."

"But not false teeth. You ask anybody who wears them. And besides, I'm
told he hadn't washed at all on getting up, which in a neat man looks
like his being in a violent hurry from the beginning. And here's another
thing. One of his waistcoat pockets was lined with wash-leather for the
reception of his gold watch. But he had put his watch into the pocket on
the other side. Anybody who has settled habits can see how odd that is.
The fact is, there are signs of great agitation and haste, and there are
signs of exactly the opposite. For the present I am not guessing. I must
reconnoiter the ground first, if I can manage to get the right side of
the people of the house." Trent applied himself again to his breakfast.

Mr. Cupples smiled at him benevolently. "That is precisely the point,"
he said, "on which I can be of some assistance to you." Trent glanced up
in surprise. "I told you I half expected you. I will explain the
situation. Mrs. Manderson, who is my niece--"

"What!" Trent laid down his knife and fork. "Cupples, you are jesting
with me."

"I am perfectly serious, Trent, really," returned Mr. Cupples earnestly.
"Her father, John Peter Domecq, was my wife's brother. I never mentioned
my niece or her marriage to you before, I suppose. To tell the truth, it
has always been a painful subject to me, and I have avoided discussing
it with anybody. To return to what I was abo