"What do you mean?" he growled.
"You were not wise," she proceeded tranquilly, "to treat his mental capabilities with quite so much contempt. They are possibly not startlingly brilliant, and he is perfectly easy to deceive. But even an official detective can see through a clumsy lie."
Uneasiness flashed across his face. She smiled slightly.
"And I am afraid, my friend, that you are a clumsy liar."
"I don't know what you are talking about," he snapped.
"Come," she said quietly—"however freely we may trifle with the very much overrated Arm of the Law, at least let us be honest with each other. For some reason or other, you did not tell Inspector Fay the truth."
He sat upright with a jerk, flamed with passion.
"What the devil is it to do with you?" he demanded fiercely.
"I will tell you in a moment," she returned smoothly. "When you accounted for your time to the inspector, you told him that you went into the house to refill your cigarette case?"
His lethargy had disappeared. He leant forward, staring at her, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.