Emboldened by the success of my little trap, I proceeded further. But there was little room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself into my hands with every word he uttered. The man had never been in Florence in his life.
But, if not in Florence, where had he been? In England? Actually in England at the time of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a bold step.
“The curious thing is,” I said, “that I fancied I had seen you before somewhere. But I must be mistaken—since you were in Florence at the time. And yet——”
I studied him frankly. There was a hunted look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over his dry lips.
“Where—er—where——”
“—did I think I had seen you?” I finished for him. “At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why, of course, how stupid of me, Sir Eustace has a house there!”
But with an incoherent muttered excuse, my victim rose and fled.
That night I invaded Suzanne’s cabin, alight with excitement.
“You see, Suzanne,” I urged, as I finished my tale, “he was in England, in Marlow, at the time of the murder. Are you so sure now that ‘The Man in the Brown Suit’ is guilty.”
“I’m sure of one thing,” said Suzanne, twinkling unexpectedly.