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"But," I objected, "why the pretence at all?" "It seems to me," he replied, "that there were two objects. Christian Louboutin Macarena 120 Wedges Sandals Gray First, it was a 'try-on,' a gamble on the infinitesimal chance that the appearance of suicide might be accepted. What the criminal thought of that chance may be judged by the fact that she did not stay red shoes sandals to see whether it came off. She preferred definitely to in criminate herself by flight. As to the other motive, we shall come to that presently. "To return to the crime; I repeat that, disregarding the pretence of suicide, there was no attempt to conceal the identity of the murderer. There was the corpse in Lotta Schiller's room, locked in with Lotta Schiller's key, and Lotta, herself, nowhere to be found. When once it was decided that this was a case of murder, Lotta was the obvious presumptive murderer. She alone had access to the rooms and there was no one else on whom any sort of suspicion fell. Schiller had yielded no results. But, beyond a faint curiosity as to what part Lotta had played in the crime and a hope that she was not in for serious trouble, he was not much interested. His principal desire was to be left alone to get on with his painting.

About three weeks later he made a fresh contact with the case, but it was such a slight one that, at the moment, Christian Louboutin Macarena 120 Wedges Sandals Gray it caused him no concern. It is true that when, in answer to the summons of the bell, he went out to the gate and found Inspector Blandy on the threshold, he was slightly disturbed until that officer announced his harmless mission. "I am ashamed, Mr. Pedley, to come pestering you in this way, but I won't detain you a minute. You were so kind as to mention, when I last called on you, that you had put out a plan of the British camp at Loughton to show or lend to Mrs. Schiller. Now I have come to ask if you would be so very good as to let me see that plan. "It is out Hendon way.
A place called Linton Green; and the wood is still known by its old name, Gravel-pit Wood." As Tom spoke the name, Polton started and gazed at the picture with a most singular expression. "Gravel-pit Wood, Linton Green," he repeated in a strange hushed voice; "the very wood in which that poor gentleman was murdered!" "Oh!" said Tom in a tone of mild interest. "I never heard of that. How long ago was it?" "The murder was committed last Tuesday." "Last Tuesday!" Tom repeated incredulously. "Why, that is the day on which I painted the picture. Do you know what time it happened?" "It would have been somewhere about four o'clock in the afternoon." "Then," Tom exclaimed, "I must have actually been in the wood at the very time when the murder was being committed!" "Yes, sir," Polton agreed.