"Very well, sir. Since I am here, I may inquire if you know any one living at 104, Hendon Road, Battersea Park?"
"Now that you mention the address, I recall it as the residence of the lady in whom my brother is interested. This morning I had forgotten it, but you have refreshed my memory."
"You're a tolerably self-possessed person," was the detective's unspoken thought, for Fenley was a different man now from the nervous, distrait son who had clamored for vengeance on his father's murderer. "You own up to the facts candidly when it is useless to do anything else, and you never fail to hammer a nail into Robert's coffin when the opportunity offers."
But aloud he said—
"You really don't know the lady's name, I suppose?"
Fenley hesitated a fraction of a second.
"Yes, I do know it, though I withheld the information this morning," he replied. "But, I ask you, is it quite fair to make me a witness against my brother?"
"Some one must explain Mr. Robert's movements, and, since he declines the task, I look to you," was the straightforward answer.
"She is a Mrs. Lisle," said Fenley, after another pause—a calculated pause this time.
"Have you visited your City office today?"