“7.40 p. m., sir.”
“Do you know anything about him between those times?”
Parlett looked blank.
“It’s three weeks ago, sir. I’m afraid I . . .”
“I’ll jog your memory; a foreign gentleman—a Mr. Lukescu—was to call on him that evening.”
Parlett’s face at once brightened.
“Oh, yes, sir; now I remember well; the gentleman was late—Captain Wraile was in a proper fuss about it. I’ve got the time Mr. Lukescu arrived in the Visitors’ Book, but I remember well enough—he was expected at 6.30 but he didn’t come and didn’t come—not until close on 7. One of the waiters came and told me that the gentleman was expected at 6.30; I made a note of it on my pad. He didn’t come, though, and Captain Wraile kept on popping down to see if he hadn’t come and been shown somewhere else.”
It was Poole’s turn to look blank.
“Do you mean to say that you saw Captain Wraile yourself between 6.30 and 7?”
“Yes, sir—two or three times.”