The Second Confesion

“Who do you suppose?” Gwenn was pent up. “That dangerous criminal! Oh, I suppose he is. All right, he is. But I wasn't going to cross him off without telling him first, and not on the phone or in a letter, either. I phoned him to come here.” “Sure,” Madeline said, not like a loving sister. “So you could make him tell you who X is and make him reform.” “Not me,” Gwenn declared. “Reforming is your department. I was simply going to tell him we're through-and good-bye. I merely preferred to do it that way, before telling Dad and the rest of you. He was coming up on the nine twenty-three and taxi from the station and meet me here. I thought he had missed it-and now I guess he didn't get the next one either-but there's a-what time is it?” I told her. “Nine minutes after eleven.” “There's a train at eleven thirty-two, and I'll wait for that and then quit. I don't usually wait around for a man for two hours, but this is different. You admit that, don't you, Mad?” “If you could use a suggestion from a detective,” I offered, “I think you ought to phone him again and find out what happened. Why don't you girls go and do that, and I'll wait here in case he shows up. I promise not to say a word to him except that you'll soon be back. Get a jacket, too.” That appealed to them. The only part that didn't appeal to me was that they might wave flashlights around on their way to the drive, but they went in another direction, a short cut by way of the rose garden. I waited until they were well started and then headed towards the drive, used the light to spot the object on the ground by the bush, and went to it.

First, was he dead? He was. Second, what killed him? The answer to that wasn't as conclusive, but there weren't many alternatives. Third, how long ago had he died? I had a guess for that one, with some experience to go by. Fourth, what was in his pockets? That took more care and time on account of complications.