“There are bloodstains on the stairs,” said Carver, “and on the garden path outside. There is also the mark of car wheels which have evidently been backed from the lane where Lander usually kept his car, but beyond that, all trace is lost.”
He looked at Tab and Tab looked at him.
“What do you think?” asked Tab quietly.
“I am not putting my thoughts into words,” said the Inspector, “and I tell you honestly, Tab, that I’d rather have that confession of Lander’s—wild and incoherent as it is—than I’d have Lander himself.”
Dawn was breaking, and Ursula had come down to make them coffee, a silent but absorbed listener.
“It is perfectly certain that Lander came here,” said Carver. “He destroyed the telephone connection, he made an entrance by the window in the sitting-room, and he went upsta
