led on,
the mask fell asleep. Something else took their place.

On the wall was the scene at the opera.

In the golden gloom of the darkened house, it showed Paliser, sitting
back in his box, presumably enjoying the _Terra addio_, for which Caruso
had, as usual, been saving himself. Without, in the corridor, a figure
furtively peering at the names on the doors. Then the voice of the
soprano blending with that of the tenor and, during the divine duo, the
door of the box opening, letting in a thread of light; Paliser turning
to look and beholding that figure and a hand which, instantly
descending, deepened the gloom forever.

It was certainly _Terra addio_, Jones reflected. Certainly, too, the
scene is easy enough to reconstruct But whose was the hand?

Flicking his ashes, he looked about and saw two hands, between which, he
also saw, he was entirely free to pick and choose. One hand, slight and
fragile, was Cassy Cara's. The other, firm and virile, was Lennox'.

Lennox had threatened. He had been acidly murderous. He had a motive. He
had the opportunity. He knew where Paliser would be. He had been
supplied with a seat in that box. The hand was his. It was a clear case.
That was obvious, particularly to Jones, who regarded the obvious as
very misleading.

Given the chance, he reflected, and Lennox might have done for Paliser,
but he would have done for him with bare fists, never with a knife. It
was not Lennox to use one. It was not Lennox at all.

Jones threw him out and pulled in Cassy Cara.

The case against her was equally clear. Presumably she owned the
stiletto which a hat pin is. In addition, she also had a motive. If ever
a girl had cause to up and do it, she had. Then, too, the risk was
negligible. Any jury would acquit and tumble over each other to shake
hands with her. For equity has justice that the law does not know.
Moreover there are crimes that jurists have not codified. Some are too
inhuman, others too human. Cassy's righting of her own wrongs belonged
among the latter. Cassy's, that is, provided she had done it. But had
she? Logically, yes. If the police could look behind the scenes,
logically they would say to her, "Thou art the man."

But, Jones resumed, logic when pushed far enough becomes incoherence.
The psychologist prefers vision and it would display none to believe
that she did it. In the abstract, that is to be regretted. A lovely
assassin! A beautiful girl slaying a recreant lover! A