Just as the breed of the chicken is indelibly stamped on it in the eyes of a man skilled in chickens, so is the murder we are investigating marked by characteristics so plain that a child of ten, properly trained to use his eyes, might discern them.

What you and I suffer from are defects implanted by idle nursemaids and doting mothers.

Let us, for the moment, adopt the policy of the theosophists and sit in consultation apart from our astral bodies.

Who killed Sir Alan Hume-Frazer?
I answer, a relative.

What relative?
Someone we do not know, whom he did not know, or who committed murder because he was known.