"So with his underclothes. It was hardly necessary to warn him
that his pants might show above the edge of his socks; as an
artist he had already decided upon Robertian pants. I bought
them, and other things, in London for him. Even if I had not cut
out all trace of the maker's name, he would instinctively have
done it. As an Australian and an artist, he could not have an
East London address on his underclothes. Yes, we were doing the
thing thoroughly, both of us; he as an artist, I as a--well, you
may say murderer, if you like. I shall not mind now.

"Our plans were settled. I went to London on the Monday and
wrote him a letter from Robert. (The artistic touch again.) I
also bought a revolver. On the Tuesday morning he announced
the arrival of Robert at the breakfast-table. Robert was now alive
--we had six witnesses to prove it; six witnesses who knew that he
was coming that afternoon. Our private plan was that Robert
should present himself at three o'clock, in readiness for the
return of the golfing-party shortly afterwards. The maid would
go to look for Mark, and having failed to find him, come back to
the office to find me entertaining Robert in Mark's absence. I
would explain that Mark must have gone out somewhere, and would
myself introduce the wastrel brother to the tea-table. Mark's
absence would not excite any comment, for it would be generally
felt--indeed Robert would suggest it--that he had been afraid of
meeting his brother. Then Robert would make himself amusingly
offensive to the guests, particularly, of course, Miss Norris,
until he thought that the joke had gone far enough.

"That was our private plan. Perhaps I should say that it was