“It’s a pity. Higgins is an admirably original name for a butler. Besides, it harmonises much more with the gentleman’s general air of ruggedness, doesn’t it? Well, what about this breath of air we promised ourselves, Alec? See you later no doubt, Jefferson.”
Jefferson nodded amicably, and the two strolled out on to the lawn. It was only just beginning to get dusk, and the light was still strong.
“I’ve found out who the handkerchief belongs to, Alec,” Roger said in a low voice.
“Have you? Who?”
“Mrs. Plant. I was almost certain before we sat down to dinner, but what she said clinched it. That scent is jasmine right enough.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Roger hesitated. “Well, you heard what she said,” he replied, almost apologetically. “She didn’t actually deny it, because I never asked her; but she wouldn’t admit to being in the library at all yesterday evening.”
“But surely it’s a perfectly innocent thing to be in the library?” Alec protested. “Why, Stanworth wasn’t even there. He was out in the garden with you. Why shouldn’t she have been in the library?”
“And, equally, why shouldn’t she acknowledge it?” Roger retorted quickly.
“It may have slipped her memory. That’s nothing. You were saying yourself how difficult it is to remember exactly where one’s been.”