Theydon began to believe that both detectives were cranks of the first
order. Furneaux, whose extraordinary insight he actually feared, was
obviously an excellent example of the alliance between insanity and
genius. In a word, he failed, and not unreasonably, to understand that
when the Jersey man was mouthing a strange jargon of knowledge and
incoherence, and Winter was inclined to be snappy with his
subordinate, and each was more than rude to the other, they were then
giving tongue like hounds hot on the trail.

Winter's Christian names were James Leander, the latter being
conferred for no more classical reason than his father's association
with a famous boating club, but the fact supplied Furneaux with
material for many a quip. These things Theydon learnt later. At
present he was giving all his attention to Winter, who led the way
into a dainty furnished bedroom. The electric lights were governed by
two switches. A pair of lamps occupied the usual place in front of a
dressing table; a third was suspended from a canopy over the bed, and
was controlled also by an alternate switch behind the bolster. Winter
turned on all three lights, so the room was brilliantly illuminated.

Any place less likely to become the scene of a brutal crime could
hardly be imagined. It looked exactly what it was, the bedchamber of a
refined and well-bred woman, whose trained sense of color and design
was shown by the harmony of carpet, rugs, wall paper and furniture.

Winter pointed to a slight depression on the side of the bed. A white
linen coverlet was rumpled as though some one had sat there.

"That is where Ann Rogers, the maid, found her mistress at ten o'clock