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listened to Hutchins’s story with a very sober expression.

“I may be wrong,” the Inspector said, finally, “but I certainly do believe that girl did it. For, on the face of it, Hutchins, what else is there to think? She is in love with Locke—that’s sure. I’m not so sure he is in love with her—and you know, ‘a woman scorned,’ is”

“Is the devil and all. But I can’t see that slip of a youngster killing anybody.”

“It was done on a sudden impulse—that’s clear. Nobody throws a heavy bronze weight premeditatedly. It looks like a woman’s deed to me. Of course, this presupposes an acquaintance—probably more than that—between Mrs. Barham and the artist. But we have to suppose that—there’s no other assumption that allows for her coming there at all.”

“She could have come out of the usual curiosity of the upper circles to see what the Bohemians do at their revels. That’s not an unknown proposition.”

“I see you’re prejudiced in the girl’s favor. I can’t blame you for that. But we must look facts in the face. The visiting lady had in her hand the lucky piece which is evidently greatly prized by Locke. He even sent a note to Charley to find it for him. Now, we know that Mrs. Barham had it in her hand when she died. Maybe she was killed for it.”

“Oh, that’s too fantastic!”