“You said there was a flaw in the inspector's case. Is this it, by any chance?”
Looking up, he saw the figure of Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux crossing the lawn not far from them.
“That's very opportune,” he said, glancing after her. “Any objection to my asking your witness a couple of questions, Clinton?”
“None whatever.”
“Then come along.”
Wendover managed matters so that it appeared as though they had encountered Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux by a mere accident; and it was only after they had talked for a few minutes on indifferent matters that he thought it safe to ask his questions.
“You must have got drenched before you reached the hotel on Friday night, madame, surely? I hope there have been no ill-effects?”
“Yes, indeed!” Mme Laurent-Desrousseaux answered readily. “It was a real rain of storm—how do you say that in English?”
“Thunderstorm; heavy shower,” Sir Clinton suggested.
“Yes? Une pluie battante. I was all wetted.”