"Well, sir, if you don't mind," said Detective-Sergeant Mullins, "that's what I'd like to know—what it was about?"
"Good Lord!" gasped the ex-captain of territorials feebly. "I'm not sure I know myself—now. What do men generally talk about over a Scotch and soda? I believe we started with the subject of democracy, and I'm afraid, in fact I'm certain, I talked a good bit of drivel, and incidentally settled several of the world questions and so on, and then we drifted from one thing to another in a desultory fashion."
"Yes, sir," said Sergeant Mullins. "And the things you drifted to—could you remember them, sir? It's very important, sir, that you should."
"Well, if it's important, I'll try," said Captain Francis Newcombe gravely. "The shows, of course, and the American Yacht race, horses, a hunting lodge Sir Harris had in Scotland, and—yes, I believe that's all, sergeant. But it's quite a range, at that."
Detective-Sergeant Mullins inspected the bottom button of his waistcoat intently.
"Sir Harris was a bit of a criminologist in his way, as perhaps you've heard, sir?" he said.
"Yes, I believe I have heard it said that was a hobby of his," nodded Captain Francis Newcombe. "But I wouldn't have known it from anything Sir Harris said last night, if that's what you mean. The subject wasn't mentioned."
"Nor any crime? And particularly any particular criminal?" prodded the Scotland Yard man.
Captain Francis Newcombe shook his head.
"Not a word," he said.