"Why do you say it to me?"
"What's the meaning of that cloak being in your wardrobe?"
"Why did you go to my wardrobe to look for it?"
"Man, I wasn't looking for that. I was looking for something with which to hang you. And I found this, and those. This is a towel. There's blood on it. See! The marks of bloody fingers. You wiped your hands on it when, last night, you came from Lawrence's room."
"That is what you make of it. I see."
"Those are the pyjamas which you were wearing. There are stains on them. See here, on the front of the jacket; on the breeches, too."
"What is the deduction which you draw from that?"
"I don't know. I did know. But now I don't."
His tone was one of intense dejection. He looked towards the bed. I considered for a moment. Then I spoke.
"You're quite right, Hume. The cloak is Miss Moore's."
He turned round quickly.
"Do you want to hang her now instead of Philip? Or do you want to hang them both?"
"You talk too much of hanging. I mean you and I to understand each other before you
