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He met Marryatt on his way upstairs⁠—Marryatt looking pained, as he always did when bad news went round.

"I must congratulate you on your driving, Reeves. It's all over the Club. But when I think of that poor fellow Davenant⁠—I wonder now, do you think perhaps the jury will find Davenant was insane? Why do we always assume it's a madman's act to take one's own life, when it's surely a far more desperate thing to take anybody else's? Did you think, from what you saw of Davenant, that he was in mental health?"

"My dear Marryatt," said Reeves, "you're jumping to conclusions again. The police have arrested Davenant, because his movements since the time of the murder have been suspicious, and he has got to account for them. But there isn't any positive case against him as far as I know."

"I'm afraid the facts are only too clear," said Marryatt, shaking his head. "A man doesn't conceal himself so carefully unless there's a guilty conscience behind it. But I still ask myself, was it a sane man's act?"