nephew—well, I suppose he still had his allowance while the old man lived. Do you know anything about Nephew Herbert?"
"Man about town—Society tame cat—usual vices, what? Plays a bit high. He's nothing in particular."
"Don't sound like a lurking stabber," Reggie admitted.
"People don't do these things. That's the trouble. Queer case."
"I suppose the old man hadn't a lurid past?"
Lomas shook his head. "Most respectable old bird."
Reggie stood up and gave himself a full glass of soda water. "The extraordinary efficiency of the assassin," he said carefully. "Lomas, old dear, observe the extraordinary efficiency of the assassin. Mr. S. Charlecote comes out of his son's house. A few yards from the door somebody kills him so quickly, so neatly, that he don't make one sound. And then this extraordinarily efficient assassin leaves his dagger for you to find."
"Who says he didn't make a sound?"
"Yes. Geoffrey and his angel wife. Yes. Only them and no one else. That's a flaw. Little essays in the obvious by S. Lomas. Well, it's me for the corpse, then."
And so in the morning he called at the mortuary. He was slightly surprised to find the divisional sur-
