Alison relaxed and sat back in her chair, laughing softly. “Dear boy,” she said—“do you know?—you’re quite mad—quite!”
“Do you mean to say you didn’t—?”
“I can’t even surmise what you’re talking about.”
“That’s funny.” He pondered this, staring. “I made sure it was you. Weren’t you in London last Friday?”
“I? Oh, no. Why, didn’t I tell you I only left Paris Saturday morning? That’s why we had to travel all day to catch the boat at Queenstown, you know.”
He frowned. “That’s true; you did say so.... But I wish I could imagine what it all means.”
“Tell me; I’m good at puzzles.”
So he recounted the story of the bandbox incognito, Alison lending her attention with evident interest, some animation and much quiet amusement. But when he had finished, she shook her head.
“How very odd!” she said wonderingly. “And you have no idea—?”
“Not the least in the world, now that you’ve established an alibi. Miss Searle knows, but—”