"That scoundrel killed Alan, and now he wants to kill his own wife!"
growled Hume, when they were alone.

Brett looked through him rather than at him. He was thinking intently. For
a long time--minutes it seemed to his fuming companion--he remained
motionless, with glazed, immovable eyes. Then he awoke to action.

"Quick!" he cried. "Tell me if this room has changed much since you were
last here. Is the furniture the same? Is that the writing-table? What
chair did you sit in? Where was it placed? Quick, man! You have wasted
eighteen months. Give me no opinions, but facts."

Thus admonished, scared somewhat by the barrister's volcanic energy, Hume
obeyed him.

"There is no material change in the room," he said. "The secretaire is the
same. You see, here is the drawer which was broken open. It bears the
marks of the implement used to force the lock. I think I sat in this
chair, or one like it. It was placed here. My face was turned towards the
fire, yet in my dream I was looking through the centre window. The
Japanese sword rested here. I showed you where Alan's body was found."

The young man darted about the room to illustrate each sentence. Brett
followed his words and actions without comment. He grabbed his hat and
stick.

"We will return later in the day," he said. "Let us go at once and call on
Mrs. Eastham."