Daunt felt instinctively the reply did not ring true.
‘That’s what I’ve come to ask you,’ he retorted. ‘What were you and he doing at the boathouse on that Wednesday night?’
‘My dear fellow,’ Austin answered—he was evidently shaken, but still spoke with a certain dignity—‘you forget yourself. You have no right to ask me such a question.’
‘Then I withdraw it and ask you another. You told me, I think, that the Sunday evening when you dined at Luce Manor was the last occasion on which you saw Sir William alive?’
‘Certainly.’
‘And you repeat that now?’
‘Why, of course I do.’
Daunt leant forward and spoke impressively.
‘Then how do you explain your having lunched with him on the next day at the Étoile in Soho?’
Again Austin started. Daunt was sure that the shot had told. But the other only said: