“And after you and Mr. Burgoyne had dined, Mr. Farwell?”
“Well, I had a rotten headache, so I decided that I wouldn’t go over to Dallases’ for the poker game after all, but that I’d turn in and read a detective story that I’d brought out with me. I called up George to ask if he’d have enough without me, and he said yes, so I decided that I’d call it a night and went up to my bedroom.”
“Did you see Mr. Burgoyne before he left?”
“Yes, he stuck his head in the door just as I was putting on my bathrobe and asked if there was anything he could do, and I said nothing but tell George I was sorry.”
“Have you any idea what time that was?”
“It must have been round quarter to nine; the party was to start about nine, and he was walking.”
“Did you read for long after he left?”
“Yes, I read right along; but about half-past nine I got up for a cigarette, and I couldn’t find a match, so I started hunting through the pockets of the golf suit I’d been wearing, for my lighter. It wasn’t there. I remembered that I’d used it on the way over to the cottage—I kept it in my pocket with my loose change—and all of a sudden it came back to me that I’d pulled a handkerchief out of that pocket when I was getting that coin to toss up on the porch and I’d thought I heard something drop, and looked around a little, but I didn’t pay much attention to it, because I thought probably it was just some change that had rolled off the porch. I realized then that it must have been the lighter, and I was sore as the devil.”
“Will you tell us why, Mr. Farwell?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been hanging round the cottage, and the lighter was marked on the inside.”