“No, we’re not mad. We know,” said Ellery, with a short, uneasy laugh—a laugh that grated.
Woodman looked from the one to the other.
“I fear you are both mad,” said he very quietly. “And now, will one of you please tell me what you mean by this extraordinary accusation?”
“You had better hear what we have to say before you start protesting,” said Ellery. “Let me tell you exactly what happened at Liskeard House last Tuesday. Then you will see that we know. You are supposed to have been at your hotel in the small writing-room on the first floor between 10.45 and 11.30, or after.”
“So I was, of course.”
“But we can produce a gentleman who was in the writing-room between those hours, and can swear that you were not.”
“Oh, I may have slipped out of the room for a while. But it is preposterous——”
“You had better hear me out. This gentleman saw you leave the writing-room and go downstairs at a few minutes to eleven. Shortly after, he went to the room himself and remained there three-quarters of an hour. He saw you return to the writing-room rather before a quarter to twelve.”
“This is pure nonsense. But what of it, even if it were true?”
“This. When you left the room you went down to the basement of the hotel, which was deserted, and let yourself out by unbarring the side door leading from the Grill Room into St. John’s Street. You also returned that way shortly after half-past eleven.”