Trent promised himself a better acquaintance, hung on what little
wall-space was unoccupied by books. These had a very uninspiring
appearance of having been bought by the yard and never taken from their
shelves. Bound with a sober luxury, the great English novelists,
essayists, historians and poets stood ranged like an army struck dead in
its ranks. There were a few chairs made, like the cupboard and table, of
old carved oak; a modern arm-chair and a swivel office-chair before the
desk. The room looked costly but very bare. Almost the only portable
objects were a great porcelain bowl of a wonderful blue on the table, a
clock and some cigar boxes on the mantel-shelf, and a movable telephone
standard on the top of the desk.

* * * * *

"Seen the body?" inquired the inspector.

Trent nodded. "And the place where it lay," he said.

"First impressions of this case rather puzzle me," said the inspector.
"From what I heard at Halvey I guessed it might be common robbery and
murder by some tramp, though such a thing is very far from common in
these parts. But as soon as I began my inquiries I came on some curious
points, which by this time I dare say you've noted for yourself. The man
is shot in his own grounds, quite near the house, to begin with. Yet
there's not the slightest trace of any attempt at burglary. And the body
wasn't robbed. In fact, it would be as plain a case of suicide as you
could wish to see, if it wasn't for certain facts. Here's another thing:
for a month or so past, they tell me, Manderson had been in a queer
state of mind. I expect you know already that he and his wife had some
trouble between them. The servants had noticed a change in his manner to
her for a long time, and for the past week he had scarcely spoken to
her. They say he was a changed man, moody and silent--whether on account
of that or something else. The lady's maid says he looked as if
something was going to arrive. It's always easy to remember that people
looked like that, after something has happened to them. Still, that's
what they say. There you are again, then: suicide! Now, why wasn't it
suicide, Mr. Trent?"

"The facts, so far as I know them, are really all against it," Trent
replied, sitting on the threshold of the window and clasping his knees.
"First, of course, no weapon is to be found. I've searched, and you've
searched, and there's no trace of any firearm anywhere within a stone's
throw of wh