“I really couldn’t tell you, Inspector. I believe Sir Charles Considine here was playing ‘Auction’ with some of the others—Sir Charles can confirm this if you ask him, and give you full particulars—I really didn’t pay much attention—but I was playing ‘Solo’ myself with Major Hornby, Robertson and Prescott. You’ve seen Robertson already, hasn’t he told you?” His teeth flashed into another disarming smile.
“And you lost money, didn’t you? Consistently?”
“That seems to me my business, Inspector, but I’ll be perfectly open and frank ... I did.”
“Remember, Lieutenant Barker,” snapped Baddeley, “we are investigating a murder, and a singularly brutal murder at that, not the theft of two pennyworth of tripe.”
“I do, Inspector,” responded Barker with an almost affected languidity, “that was the sole reason I answered you. Rest assured that I certainly shouldn’t have done, otherwise.”
Baddeley glared. Then his experience gained the victory over his temper.
“Do you object to telling me the amount you lost to the dead man?”
Barker hesitated momentarily. Looked up at the ceiling and tapped his foot on the carpet. Then, to all appearances, came to a decision.
“I’ll tell you. I suppose it’s your job to nose into things. I lost over two hundred pounds—two hundred and eight, to be strictly accurate.”
“Did you pay it over there and then?”