Val Beverley was watching Madame de Stämer anxiously, and the fact that she was unfit to undergo further examination was so obvious that any other than an Inspector Aylesbury would have withdrawn. The latter, however, seemed now to be glued to his chair, and:
“Oh, I see,” he said; “and now there’s another point: Have you any idea what took Colonel Menendez out into the grounds last night?”
Madame de Stämer lowered her hands and gazed across at the speaker.
“What is that, Monsieur l’inspecteur?”
“Well, you don’t think he might have gone out to talk to someone?”
“To someone? To what one?” demanded Madame, scornfully.
“Well, it isn’t natural for a man to go walking about the garden at midnight, when he’s unwell, is it? Not alone. But if there was a lady in the case he might go.”
“A lady?” said Madame, softly. “Yes—continue.”
“Well,” resumed the Inspector, deceived by the soft voice, “the young lady sitting beside you was still wearing her evening dress when I arrived here last night. I found that out, although she didn’t give me a chance to see her.”
His words had an effect more dramatic than he could have foreseen.