"No objection to coming in here, I trust, sir," said Hemingway, opening the door into the boudoir. "It seems to be the only room that isn't full of playing-cards or prawn-patties."
"I have no objection, since I assume that -" Mr. Poulton paused, allowing his eye to fall upon the chair by the telephone. "Precisely," he said.
"Oh, no, that's all right!" Hemingway said, understanding his cryptic utterance. "I don't think I shall be keeping you for many minutes either, sir." He saw that Poulton was looking at his second-in-command, and said: "Inspector Grant. Sit down, sir! I understand you left the library at some time during Mr. Seaton-Carew's absence from it. I think I have all that in Inspector Pershore's notes. Was the deceased a friend of yours?"
Poulton shrugged. "Hardly that. I suppose I've met him half a dozen times."
The Chief Inspector, before entering the drawingroom, had read Pershore's voluminous notes, and he had an excellent memory for relative detail. "Did he visit your house, sir?"
"I daresay," Poulton replied, his heavy-lidded eyes dwelling indifferently on the Chief Inspector's face. "My wife entertains a great deal, but I am a very busy man, and I am not invariably present at her parties."
"Quite so, sir. Mr. Seaton-Carew was Lady Nest's friend rather than yours?"
"It would be more accurate to say that he was an acquaintance of hers. My wife originally met him through her friendship with Mrs. Haddington."
"Were you on good terms with him, sir?"
Again Poulton shrugged. "Certainly - though that's a somewhat exaggerated way of describing it. If you mean, had I quarrelled with him - No. If, on the other hand, you mean, did I like the man? Again, no."