“We can’t hear anything of a leopard skin,” Charles pursued. “You may remember, sir, that you expressed the opinion that the leopardess costume would turn out to be a private one. And the only Zenobia costume we can trace was furnished a year ago.”
I stole a glance at the consultant. His keen eyes were no longer on me.
“To whom was it furnished?” he asked quietly.
The Inspector took out a note-book and opened it.
“To the Lady Violet Bredwardine, Grosvenor Place.”
At last the name had been pronounced, the name that I had so much dreaded to hear on the lips of the police. Fortunately I had known that it was coming. I had braced my nerves to meet the shock, and I managed to preserve an air of complete indifference while I faced the speaker.
“Well?”
Tarleton spoke a little sharply. Captain Charles looked at him in mild wonder.
“Well?” the specialist repeated impatiently. “What have you ascertained about Lady Violet Bredwardine?”
Charles was plainly put out by the question.