“No, I don’t think he was. He had quickly put on an overcoat. He usually answers at once, when I ring for him, you see.”
“I see. What did you do then?”
“Well, I was frightened, you understand, and I told him to find out if all was well with my husband. He came back and told me that Colin was writing. But the sound had alarmed me very much.”
“Oh, and now perhaps you will tell me, Mrs. Camber, when and where your husband first met Colonel Menendez?”
Every vestige of colour fled from the girl’s face.
“So far as I know—they never met,” she replied, haltingly.
“Could you swear to that?”
“Yes.”
I think that hitherto she had not fully realized the nature of the situation; but now something in the Inspector’s voice, or perhaps in our glances, told her the truth. She moved to where Colin Camber was sitting, looking down at him questioningly, pitifully. He put his arm about her and drew her close.
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat and returned his note-book to his pocket.
“I am going to take a look around the garden,” he announced.
My respect for him increased slightly, and Harley and I followed him out of the study. A police sergeant was sitting in the hall, and Ah Tsong was standing just outside the door.
“Show me the way to the garden,” directed the Inspector.
Ah Tsong stared stupidly, whereupon Paul Harley addressed him in his native language, rapidly and in a
