“Yes, I think I meant that. I don't know. I was terribly worried. I couldn't see my way out of the trouble. I wrote that to try and frighten him. I thought he might hesitate to push me too far if he knew I was prepared to stand by Gladys, and let everything else go to the devil. After all he wouldn't want an open scandal in the family, and it wasn't as though my wife suffered in any way through Mrs Smith.”
“I quite understand that,” said Hannasyde. “You asked him for a second interview, but he refused it, didn't he?”
Henry Lupton nodded, and gulped. “Yes, he refused it. That was the last time I spoke to him. On the morning of the day he died, just over the telephone. He rang me up from his office. I never saw him again.”
“At what time did he ring you up, Mr Lupton?”
“Oh, quite early! Not later than eleven.”
“I see. And what did you do then?”
Lupton stared at him. “Nothing. That is, I was at my office, you see. I had my work. I couldn't do anything.”
“You didn't make any attempt to see Mr Matthews—during lunch-time, for instance?”
“No. It wouldn't have been any use. I knew Gregory. I had lunch by myself. I wanted time to think.”
“Where did you lunch, Mr Lupton?”