"He was not. He was quite incapacitated at the time."

I hunted up one or two points which occurred to me, and then went to
Austin Friars to call upon Mr. Delverton.

He was out of town, yachting, but his partner came into the clerks'
office to see me. I told him that my business with Mr. Delverton
was private.

This partner, I discovered, was Kellner, who had formerly been a clerk in
the firm. He was the man who, with the junior, had been the last to leave
the office on the night of the tragedy. He was worth a little attention,
and I spent two days making inquiries about him. He was as smart a man of
business as could be found within a mile radius of the Royal Exchange, I
was informed, a wonderful linguist, with a profound knowledge of
financial matters. Now he was a wealthy man, but three years ago he had
been in very low water.

This discovery sent me to Twickenham again. I said nothing about Kellner
having become a partner in Delverton Brothers'; I merely asked Southey
whether he had satisfactorily accounted for his time on the fatal night.

"Didn't I tell you?" said Southey. "Oh, yes, he had an absolute alibi; so
had the youth Small. I made them my first business."

I did not call on Dr. Morrison, but I went to his neighborhood, and asked
a few questions. Everybody spoke well of the doctor, which, of course,
might mean much or little, and I was fortunate enough to see him with his
wife in a motor. He looked like a doctor, a forceful and self-reliant
man, not one to lose his head or give himself away. He would be likely to