door, and another cupboard filled a recess beside the fireplace. Some coloured
prints of Harunobu, with which 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 armchair 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 mantelshelf, and a movable telephone standard on the top of the
desk.

'Seen the body?' enquired 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 enquiries 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 ease 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