to speak their minds freely, and at all times. If he was never brilliant,
he had never been heard to say a foolish thing or make a pointless
remark. He moved on his way through life, and held his place there more
by reason of certain negative qualities which, amongst a community of
optimists, were universally ascribed to him, than through any more
personal or likable gifts. He had a dark, strong face, but a slim, weakly
body. He was never unduly silent, but he was a better listener than
talker. If he had no close friends, he certainly had no enemies. Whether
he was rich or poor no man knew, but next to the Colonel himself, no one
was more ready to subscribe to any of those charities which the
Sheridanites were continually inaugurating on behalf of their less
fortunate members. The man who succeeds in keeping the "ego" out of sight
as a rule neither irritates nor greatly attracts. Stephen Heneage was
one of those who stood in this position.

They were talking about the murder, or rather the Colonel was talking and
they were listening.

"There is one point," he remarked, filling his glass and beaming
good-humouredly upon his companions, "which seems to have been entirely
overlooked. I am referring to the sex of the supposed assassin!"

Wrayson looked up inquiringly. It was a point which interested him.

"Nearly all of you have assumed," the Colonel continued, "that it must
have taken a strong man to draw the cord tight enough to have killed that
poor fellow without any noticeable struggle. As a matter of fact, a child
with that particular knot could have done it. It requires no strength,
only delicacy of touch, rapidity and nerve."