"Yes, I suppose so."
"Humph. Yes. You see what we're gettin' at. Of these people here: do you remember ever havin' met any of 'em at any of your parties before tonight?"
Rich rubbed his head.
"My dear sir, that's almost impossible to say. It is impossible to say. Aside from Hubert, to the best of my knowledge I never set eyes on any of the people before last night. That's why—" his tone was whimsical—"I hope you won't suspect me of any complicity in Mr. Fane's death. I certainly didn't kill a man I'd never even met before. But as for any of them being present at one of my shows, all I can say is that I don't remember. At the same time…"
The door to the hall opened, and Ann Browning slipped in so unobtrusively that they might not even have noticed her had it not been for her white dress.
With a retiring but composed air, she took a chair behind Inspector Agnew, and sat down to listen.
H.M. stared at her.
"Oi!" he said, not gallantly. "Oi!"
"This is Miss Browning, Sir Henry, that I told you about," Agnew explained. "She's Colonel Race's private secretary. She's got the colonel's permission to be here, to report to him personally."
H.M.'s face grew apoplectic.