Menendez, who can never explain, and there is one other.”
He paused, looking from Harley to myself.
It had come, the question which I had dreaded, the question which I had been asking myself ever since I had seen Val Beverley kneeling in the corridor, dressed as she had been when we had parted for the night.
“I refer to Miss Val Beverley,” the police-court voice proceeded. “This lady had evidently not retired, and neither, it would appear, had the Colonel.”
“Neither had I,” murmured Harley, “and neither had Mr. Knox.”
“Your reason I understand,” said the Inspector, “or at least your explanation is a possible one. But if the party broke up, as you say it did, somewhere about half-past ten o’clock, and if Madame de Stämer had gone to bed, why should Miss Beverley have remained up?” He paused significantly. “As well as Colonel Menendez?” he added.
“Look here, Inspector Aylesbury,” I interrupted, speaking in a very quiet tone, I remember, “your insinuations annoy me.”
“Oh,” said he, turning his prominent eyes in my direction, “I see. They annoy you? If they annoy you, sir, perhaps you can explain this point which is puzzling me?”
“I cannot explain it, but doubtless Miss Beverley can do so when you ask her.”
“I should like to have asked her now, and I can’t make out why she refuses to see me.”
“She has not refused to see you,” replied Harley, smoothly. “She is probably unaware of the fact that you wish to see her.”
“I don’t know so much,” muttered the Inspector.
