Cinq heures vingt-cinq

A biting wind swept across the desolate stretches of Dartmoor, carrying flakes of snow that began to settle thickly over the remote village of Sittaford. Inside Sittaford House, newly rented by Mrs. Willett and her daughter Violet, a small gathering of neighbors huddled around a table for an evening of diversion: a séance. Among them were Captain Trevelyan's old friend, Major Burnaby, Mr. Rycroft, Mr. Ronnie Garfield, and Mr. Duke. The air grew heavy with anticipation as their hands rested upon the table, and then, a chilling message began to spell out, letter by agonizing letter: "Captain Trevelyan... dead... murder." The spirit declared the time of death to be precisely 5:25 p.m.

A shiver ran through the room, though skepticism warred with unease. Captain Joseph Trevelyan lived six miles away in Exhampton, and the snow-choked roads made travel treacherous, if not impossible. Yet, Major Burnaby, a man of staunch loyalty, could not rest. He announced his intention to walk the arduous six miles through the deepening snow to check on his friend. The journey was a grueling one, a battle against the elements, but when he finally arrived at Trevelyan's house, a grim reality awaited him. The back window was broken, a light burned within, and there, on the floor, lay Captain Trevelyan's body, a green baize tube filled with sand, a draught excluder, having been used to fracture his skull.

The official investigation was swiftly taken up by Inspector Narracott, but the path to truth was mired in a maze of clues and suspects. Captain Trevelyan's will revealed that, apart from a small sum for his servant, his considerable property was to be divided equally among four individuals: his sister, Jennifer Gardner, and his nephews and niece, James and Brian Pearson, and Sylvia Dering, each set to inherit approximately £20,000. Suspicion quickly fell upon James Pearson, Trevelyan's nephew, who had been in Exhampton at the time of the murder, desperately attempting to secure a loan from his uncle, an attempt that had been unsuccessful. James was arrested, and the shadow of the gallows loomed.

However, James Pearson's fiancée, Emily Trefusis, refused to accept his guilt. A woman of sharp intellect and unwavering determination, Emily embarked on her own quest for the truth, convinced of James's innocence despite his various financial misdeeds, including "borrowing" money from his firm for speculative investments. She found an unlikely ally in Charles Enderby, a journalist from the Daily Wire, who had arrived in Exhampton to present Major Burnaby with a £5,000 prize from a newspaper football competition. Together, Emily and Charles took up residence with Mr. and Mrs. Curtis in Sittaford, meticulously searching for clues and interviewing the inhabitants of the isolated community.

The remote setting of Dartmoor, with its stark beauty and unforgiving winter, shrouded the investigation in an atmospheric gloom. Emily and Charles uncovered various threads of suspicion, including the peculiar presence of the Willetts in Sittaford House, their true motive for renting it, and even an escaped convict from Dartmoor Prison, "Freemantle" Freddy, whose escape was orchestrated by Brian Pearson. Brian himself was found to have returned from Australia on the same boat as the Willetts and was secretly engaged to Violet. These revelations, however, proved to be red herrings, diverting attention from the true culprit.

The truth, when it finally emerged, was a testament to cunning and opportunism. Emily, with her keen eye, uncovered two crucial pieces of evidence: Captain Trevelyan's ski boots hidden in a chimney at Hazelmoor and two pairs of skis of different sizes. It was then that the pieces clicked into place. Major Burnaby, the seemingly loyal friend who had so dramatically journeyed through the snow, was the murderer. He had engineered the table movements during the séance, subtly guiding the "spirit" to announce Trevelyan's death.

Instead of walking the entire six miles to Exhampton after the séance, Burnaby had first gone to his own nearby house, donned skis, and covered the distance in a mere fraction of the time. He had murdered Captain Trevelyan around a quarter to six, before returning to clean his skis and hide them away. His dramatic, snow-bound trek had been a carefully orchestrated performance, a masterful deception designed to establish an alibi and throw suspicion elsewhere, particularly onto the unfortunate James Pearson. The desolate beauty of Dartmoor had provided the perfect stage for a murder most ingeniously conceived and executed.