French spoke coaxingly and the other promised he would try to remember. He seemed to French like a man who felt he had been exposed to a danger which was now happily past. But if he thought he had got rid of his visitor he was mistaken.
“When were you last at Starvel, Mr. Whymper?”
At this question Whymper seemed to crumple up. He stared at his questioner with an expression of something very like horror. When he answered it was almost in a whisper.
“The day after the fire. I have not been there since.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, when were you last there before the fire?”
Whymper’s composure was coming back. He seemed to be nerving himself for a struggle. He spoke more normally.
“Really, I couldn’t tell you, Inspector. It was a long time ago. I was only there half a dozen times in my life. Once it was by Miss Averill’s invitation, the other times on the chance of seeing her.”
“Were you there within a week of the fire?”
“Oh no. The last time was long before that.”
“Had you any communication with Mr. Averill—I mean within a week of the fire?”