Luck was on their side. Mrs. Plant was alone in the drawing room. Roger drew a chair up so as to face her squarely and commented casually on Lady Stanworth’s absence. Alec turned his back on them and gazed moodily out of the window, as if washing his hands of the whole affair.
“Lady Stanworth?” Mrs. Plant repeated. “Oh, she’s gone in to help Major Jefferson, I think. In the morning room.”
Roger looked at her steadily. “Mrs. Plant,” he said in a low voice, “you’re quite certain you won that bet of ours at dinner, aren’t you?”
“Certain?” asked Mrs. Plant uneasily. “Of course I am. Why?”
“You didn’t forget any room that you went into yesterday evening by any chance?” Roger pursued firmly. “The morning room, the storeroom, or—the library, for instance?”
Mrs. Plant stared at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean, Mr. Sheringham?” she asked in somewhat heightened tones. “Of course I didn’t forget.”
“You went into none of those rooms, then?”
“Certainly not!”
“H’m! The bet was a bottle of scent and a handkerchief, wasn’t it?” Roger remarked musingly, feeling in his pocket. “Well, here’s the handkerchief. I found it where you left it—on the couch in the library!”