It didn't take long for her to dry her tears. When she looked up again, with the weight of the knowledge she had been carrying at last off, he could see new meanings behind her expression. Alderton was finding an ever-growing pleasure in observing those features living in an articulate world of their own. The discovery had given more than taken: she was no common woman. Or was he conditioning himself, once again? No matter; he was entranced and did not desire to wake up.

"Would it be foul to suppose, Mr. Alderton, that you know what happened?"

"Not only do I know, I also can show you, if you so want."

She stood up with startling swiftness. "What are we waiting for, then?"

So they went into the adjacent room, and he instructed her to walk around the desk from left right. When her foot touched the corner of the carpet, it slipped, forcing her to hold on to the table to avoid falling. She lowered down to inspect the point. She got back up.

"It's oil..." the woman mumbled, her furrowed brow revealing an ongoing thought process.

"Now, imagine being a heavy-footed, intoxicated, angry man."

She paused, turned to the empty bookcase, touched it, looked back at the desk. "I would lose balance enough to grasp onto anything for support." Without waiting for confirmation, she went around again, sliding her foot on the ground, on the carpet, lowering down again to feel the corners of the rugs for more greasiness. At task completed, she spoke again: "The other side is dry. This was done on purpose."

"Yes, it was."

"Who?"

"I'm still figuring it out," he responded, starting to walk up and down the room. "I've been thinking, Mr. Camden does not appear to make much sense as a victim. What if the intention was to kill someone else? It would open up plausible paths."

"What about Mr. Beckwith? Since it's his house and his study."

"Maybe, but! Why do it tonight, of all times, with so many potential witnesses around? It is a very risky move for a person who wants to carry out a planned murder. Whoever did this wanted or needed the attention that such an event would bring. For what reason?"

"Um... perhaps he... or she... needed the body to be discovered soon..."

"Or, he needed it to be discovered soon by someone."

"What do you mean?"

"Think of the consequences of the discovery." She looked down, scrunching her face harder. "Think, Miss Camden!" he repeated, taking a step toward her. "You told me about it earlier. What happened among the scared, tired people forced to wait in a drawing room for so long while an investigation is carried?"

The woman hesitated some more, looked up again at last, wide eyed. "Everyone was convinced of Mr. Davenport's guilt, even when it seemed like an accident with no killer, because he had had an argument with James before he died."

"Yes! Exactly!" he yelled with furious excitement, stretching his arms forward in an emphatic gesture. Then, with a lower, more restrained tone he added: "What if... what if the killing wasn't the actual objective? What if..." He stopped on a whim. She waited with bated breath, while he turned around walking again, mumbling some unintelligible words to himself. He halted. "Miss, after I interrogated you the first time, what happened as you got back with the others?"

"What?"

"I mean, you must have felt agitated and frustrated about what you couldn't tell me, although you didn't look like it."

"Well, yes, I was..."

"And maybe Mr. Davenport saw you beaten down, so he decided to try and cheer you up."

"He did..."

"However, you weren't in the mood for it, since your plight had all to do with him, therefore, you pushed him away to be alone for a moment."

"How did you..."

"Ah! It doesn't matter how, it doesn't... Ah!" he exclaimed again, before chuckling, stroking his beard, gazing to the side. "I can't believe it. He even told me. He was so confident, that he told me without worrying. The study! I must admit, it is quite clever, it would have worked with any other. Unfortunately for him, I'm not like any other. But I can't use only circumstantial evidence, he might slip away... I need a confession... how... how can I get one?"

"Who is it? Can I help?"

If that man was obsessed enough to go to such lengths, he was sure to fight to protect the outcome of his scheme tooth and nail, he was not going to give up any crucial information on purpose. However, there might be someone he wouldn't be afraid to confess to, to whom he would tell all the details for personal satisfaction.

"Yes, actually, you can help. It will sound crazy, but I can assure you that there is no more efficient way to get what we need. Are you willing to take a bet, to trust me, Miss Alice Camden?"

"Let's not waste any more time, detective Alderton. What am I to do?"

The man smiled: to think he had almost declined to work on this case.