"I am sure of nothing. I am only assuming that such is the case. But, at all events, the person who wrote this letter knows that the matter of the death is being looked into."
"I don't see who can possibly know, save you and myself and Perry Toat."
"Who is Perry Toat?"
"The detective whom I am employing to search."
"What has he found out?"
"She, dear. Miss Toat's name is Peronella Toat, and she calls herself Perry on her card for business reasons. She has found out nothing very tangible, and confines herself to theorising a lot." Ralph paused, and shook his head once more. "I fancy she is growing tired of the case." And he related Perry Toat's discoveries--such as they were--and also detailed her theories. When he ended Audrey was almost as despairing as he appeared to be.
"There doesn't seem to be a single ray of light," lamented the girl, putting the envelope into her pocket. "Madame Coralie, her assistants, and her husband seem to be all innocent; unless," she added, with a quick look, "there is something in this idea of a prepared alibi."
"Well, Miss Toat has learnt nothing likely to show that her surmise is right in that way, Audrey. Badoura apparently knows nothing, or, infatuated with Eddy Vail, refuses to say what she may know. As to Peri Banou, who is dumb, no information can be got from her, although she was in the shop when the crime was committed. She says that she was asleep on a divan, and Zobeide certainly admits that she left her there when she went up to the still-room."
"Badoura, Peri Banou, Zobeide," said Miss Branwin, ticking off the quaint and musical names on her fingers. "You have mentioned only three of the assistants. What about the fourth?"
"Parizade? Oh! being blind, of course she can see nothing at all. She was behind the curtain in the still-room preparing some wash when Madame Coralie came to speak to her husband. That was about eight o'clock, just before Madame came down to tell you that your mother would remain for the night."