And had been shaken from, a drunken stupor the next morning to be told that Sir Henry had been murdered in the woodshed. Whoever had done this, had done me a favour, I thought .

But nontheless, I was compelled by my profession to bring my unknown benefactor to justice. 1 began systematically to pick among the logs for clues, and quite soon had elicited enough to identify the killer.

The first clue was a bloodsoaked pair of shoes, hastily buried under the logs, which I recognized with concern as my own. My consternation redoubled as my pocket watch was discovered, its face smashed by a heavy, well-directed blow. Mine, too, were the necktie - knotted and torn from the wearer's throat in a final desperate wrench of the deceased's hand - and the silver pen that had apparently fallen from the murderer"-- pocket into a corner of the shed.

Alcohol, I anxiously explained to my frowning audience, plays creul tricks with the memory, a,-,.d if I was guilty of this distasteful crime - as would appear to be the case ~ I could remember nothing of it.

They seemed unconvinced.

Through scraps of evidence supplied by Sir Henry's staff - for it was in his house that we had spent that ill-starred night - my actions were reconstructed. According to the butler, who had tried the door of my first floor room several times to find it locked, I had probably made my exit via the window and the fire-escape. Re-entry had apparently been gained by the window of the back kitchen, which was found unfastened, being always, kept locked.

The said window overlooked the kitchen-garden, beyond which was the woodshed; and as the detective sergeant despatched by the local police force investigated the window he made two interesting discoveries:

The first of these was a set of footprints, more accurately two sets. Orne led from the window across the garden to the woodshed and the other retracing them. The interesting feature of this clue wasthat both trialsi trials were made by feet wearing shoes. Since I had supposedly left my soiled footwear on the scene of the crime, this shed an interesting new light on the investigation.

The second and more elucidating discovery was that of a briar pipe in the soft earth directly beneath the kitchen window. This was immediately recognised as belonging to Sidney Lewis, and the butler, heretofore determined to accuse me nowshifted the blame to the latest suspect. Sidney, it transpired, was observed furtively leaving my room at around midnight, and when our zealous witness once more tried the door, he saw me prostrate on my bed, crooning lullabies to myself.

Sidney Lewis was not currently in a position to parry these accusations, since he had departed to console his bereaved fiancee.

"I'm sorry we suspected you, sir," said the detective sergeant on the point ofleaving in pursuit of his quarry. "Still, I suppose it was after the company directorship. As I always say, find a motive, and it's easy to identify the villian."

How true," I replied. In my mind's eye, I could see Sidney trying vainly to expiate himself. No doubt he world protest that he had been nowhere near the kitchen all evening. He would try to convince the police that he had found me languishing drunkenly on the back stairs leading to the kitchen, and had merely escorted me back to my room. He would claim that his furtiveness in leaving was for fear of waking me, since he felt that a night's undisturbed rest was what I could best use. He would try to defend himself, but it would all be in vain......

"Well, we'd best be off now, sir, if we're to apprehend the bounder. And you can thank your lucky stars for the efficiency of the British Bobby. That was a pretty neat frame-up we had to deal with!"

It was, too! I thought, as the police-car ground off down the drive. A pretty good frame-up! The work of a professional! It was almost a pity that Sidney Lewis would get all the credit for it!

J.Wilson